Consequences of life
by Linnzi
Summary: Tag for Common Ground. Surely Sheppard wouldn't just walk away from his torture unscathed? More Shep whump, I'm afraid. Spoilers for Common Ground. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Consequences.

_Thanks to Kodiak for her wonderful beta skills! There are spoilers for Common Ground ahead. Be warned!_

John winced as he listened to Beckett's voice. He didn't figure that Carson was in the mood for a compromise. As they exited the jumper, John knew he'd have a battle on his hands – one which he was doomed to lose.

"Infirmary, now please, Colonel." Carson put up his hand to quell John's argument. "Don't bother, lad. You're coming with me whether you like it or not."

John grimaced at the sharpness in Carson's voice. He recognised that tone of voice well enough. No way was Beckett going to let him go, even if he used the ubiquitous puppy dog eyes scam, not that he felt like trying to pull that one.

John was exhausted and yet strangely tense. Full of nervous energy, yet wanting nothing more than to shower and curl up in his bed. John knew he wouldn't manage to sleep, despite the innate tiredness he felt.

"Doc, seriously, I'm fine. Can't I just go to my quarters and shower, then I'll come for my post-mission check when I've had some sleep?" John knew his voice sounded pathetically pleading, almost begging, and he inwardly berated himself for sounding so… needy.

John knew deep down he wasn't going to win the argument, and if he were honest, he couldn't blame Beckett for his concern. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try to get his own way. He'd survived four Wraith feedings, and was now, to all intents and purposes, back to the usual thirty something John Sheppard – only he wasn't. Something was wrong. John felt wired, restless, strong and full of energy, yet tired to the bone – and vulnerable.

His team and Elizabeth had had to watch him being tortured. John knew that would live with them for years, and John couldn't stand the pity and compassion they'd be subconsciously throwing his way. Sure, they all knew him well enough to know he'd hate that and would try to not let it show, but they wouldn't succeed. Crap, what a mess.

"I'm sorry, Colonel." John saw the discomfort on Carson's face. "I understand you'd like some privacy, and some time to – to come to terms with…the hell you've been through." Beckett's words were rushed and apologetic, and John bit his lip as he began to feel uncomfortable at Carson's sympathy. "However, I surely don't need to remind you that your body hasn't had much fun in the last twenty-four hours, and I really need to give you a thorough examination. So, let's get this over and done with, okay?"

John exhaled and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He'd put his friends through enough already, he knew that.

Sighing, he nodded his agreement to the doctor.

"Okay. If everything checks out, and I'm a good boy, you'll let me go?"

Carson grimaced before answering.

"Let's wait and see what my tests reveal. If everything's okay, and I'm satisfied you're not going to keel over, then possibly, and I stress possibly, I'll let you sleep in your quarters. No promises though."

John reluctantly followed Beckett out of the Jumper bay, ignoring the concerned faces of his team. He had a feeling he had a long infirmary visit ahead of him.

-oOo-

John closed his eyes as the scanner passed over him. He had known it was inevitable that he'd have to change into scrubs, let Carson drain off large amounts of just about every bodily fluid available to him, and undergo hours of torturous tests. After all he'd been through, John mused at the unfairness of that. He'd been to hell and back. Been captured by Kolya, used as a pawn in his little power game, and then suffered the humiliation of being tortured in front of his team-mates. As if that wasn't enough, he was now stuck in the infirmary while Carson tortured him some more.

That wasn't true, or fair, John knew that deep down. Carson was just being his usual professional and caring self. Problem was, John was beginning to feel like a guinea pig. He couldn't blame Carson for wanting to run every test under the sun. John had had his life given back to him, and who'd have guessed the Wraith could do that? Course, it was the damned Wraith who'd sucked him dry in the first place.

"All done, Son." Carson's voice surprised John, and he involuntarily jerked in shock. Looking up into Carson's face, which, not for the first time that day, showed concern, John bit his lip as he realised he was going to have get used to a lot of sympathy being thrown his way.

"Sorry, Colonel. Didn't mean to startle you. I've finished the scans, you can go back over to your bed now."

John wearily sat up, and slung his legs over the side of the examination table. He lowered his feet to the floor, and was instantly hit by a wave of dizziness that momentarily overwhelmed him. He wavered for a few seconds, and swallowed as bile threatened to spill into his mouth. John felt Beckett's hand on his arm, and breathed deeply to try and control his nausea.

"Let's get you back into bed Colonel. Do you think you can manage to walk?"

John nodded as he felt himself gently being guided across the room.

Once he was situated in bed, the vertigo and nausea stopped as quickly as they had begun. John shook his head to clear his foggy brain. He felt restless again, and strangely rejuvenated, though the tiredness was still lurking in the background.

"Sorry about that. Think I got up too quickly," John apologised. "Are we done yet?" he asked as he settled down against the plumped up pillows. John had tried hard not to whine, but the longer he was detained in Carson's domain, the more antsy he was becoming. "I really need a shower – and food. I can't remember when I last ate…" he began as he suddenly felt a ravenous hunger assault him.

"No, we're not done. Especially after your little dizzy spell. You can shower in the infirmary bathroom in a minute, and I'll send Melissa to get you something to eat." John saw the compassion return to Carson's worn features, and inwardly cringed. "I know you want to retreat and lick your wounds, lad, but I can't let you go until I'm sure there's nothing wrong with you."

John closed his eyes in resignation.

"I know. Sorry, Doc."

"That's all right. Why don't you try and get some sleep, and I'll go through your test results, then we'll see about that shower and some dinner."

"'Kay," John replied, as his energy levels depleted again and exhaustion got the better of him.

-oOo-

"Colonel? Come on, Son, open your eyes for me."

John heard the voice through a sea of fog.

"Mnnn. Tired," he whispered by way of reply.

He heard the soft exhale of Beckett's breath.

"Aye, I know. But, I just need you to open your eyes, then you can go back to sleep."

John pried open heavy lids, and blinked rapidly to try and get Carson to come into focus.

"Sorry. Must have dozed off," he began, until he noticed the dimmed infirmary lights. "How long have I been asleep?" John asked, suddenly feeling alarmed at the obvious passage of time.

Carson exhaled, and looked at his watch.

"Ten hours. I was starting to get a little concerned. You were non-responsive for quite a while. How are you feeling?"

John considered the doctor's question. He felt the strange yet familiar feeling of restlessness surging through him, but at the same time, the weariness was tugging away at him, threatening to pull him under.

"Kind of strange. Tired but…on edge. What did your tests show?"

"Pretty much what I expected. Your pressure is high, heart rate's elevated, and your blood chemistry is all over the place. Your kidneys aren't too happy at the moment either, and I have no idea why. Are you in pain?" Carson asked, and John noticed the frown on his face.

"No. Just feel weird. Everything else okay?"

Carson snorted and gave Sheppard a withering look.

"Pretty much. You're going to have to stay here a little longer, I'm afraid."

"Figures," John muttered. "Can I at least take a shower?"

Carson smiled pleasantly at Sheppard.

"Yes. I'll be sending Melissa with you though. Don't worry, she can wait outside. I just don't want you unsupervised at the moment. Let me take out the IV and you can be on your way," Beckett replied.

John looked at his hand in surprise. When had he gained an IV?

Carson efficiently pulled out the cannula and guided John's other hand over to press a wad of cotton wool on the small wound.

"Right. All done. Keep pressure on that for a few seconds while I get a band aid."

When Carson had covered the pinprick on John's hand, he offered his own hand to help his patient stand.

John looked at Carson wearily, annoyance evident on his pale features.

"I think I can manage on my own, Doc," he murmured, as he hopped to the infirmary floor.

As luck had it, fate stuck its tongue out at John, and he buckled as a wave of vertigo hit him. Unable to support himself, John crumpled, only to be saved from a humiliating nosedive by a surprisingly agile and strong Beckett.

"Really? Back to bed, Colonel. The shower can wait, unless you fancy a sponge bath?"

When John didn't answer after he had been situated in bed, Carson looked down in concern.

"What going on, Son?" he questioned gently, as he noted John's pale, sweaty appearance, tightly shut eyes and shallow panting.

"Don't feel so good," came the muffled, pained reply.

"Aye, that much I'd worked out for myself. Care to share what's going on? Have you got any pain?" the doctor asked as he busied himself taking John's vitals.

When John remained silent for the second time, Carson knew something must be seriously wrong.

"Colonel? Are you in pain?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

Carson's question was answered when John suddenly rolled to his side, curling up in a foetal position as a soft moan left his lips.

"I'll take that as a yes," Carson muttered to himself. "Colonel? Where does it hurt? You might as well own up now, before I take matters into my own hands and prod you from head to toe."

John continued to moan quietly, but Carson managed to make out a faint 'sick' before John bolted upright, veering sideways, and promptly threw up over the side of the bed. Carson tutted at himself for being so slow on the uptake, and grabbed a nearby emesis basin, being careful to avoid the slippery mess on his infirmary floor. Fortunately John had an empty stomach, so there wasn't much to bring up. Helping John into an elevated position, Carson held the bowl and supported John as he continued to retch, bring up only meagre amounts of bile.

When he finally stopped heaving, John let Carson lower him back down against his inviting pillows, and managed to grind out a pathetic 'sorry', before groaning again.

Carson shook his head and patted John's arm.

"I'm afraid the IV goes back in, Son. Is the pain in your back?" he questioned his recalcitrant patient, having a pretty good idea what was wrong with John.

"Yeah. Sorry, Doc," John apologised again, and groaned as the pain intensified.

Carson momentarily left his patient, returning a minute later with equipment John really didn't like the look of.

"I know, Colonel," Carson sympathised when he noticed the look on his patient's face. "However, I think you're probably showing the first symptoms of renal failure, and not only do I need to take more blood, I'm afraid I'm going to need to monitor your urine output very carefully." Carson hesitated and winced. "I'm sure you already know what that means?"

John nodded weakly.

"Catheter."

Carson grimaced, snapping on gloves with his usual practised efficiency.

"Sorry. I know how much you hate this, not that anybody in their right mind would like it, but this is necessary."

"'S'okay," John mumbled with resignation, "don't really care right now."

Carson attended to his task quickly, and then proceeded to take more blood for analysis, though he suspected it would show further deterioration of John's kidneys. If John was in the early stages of renal failure, Carson didn't want to hang around with treatment. There was little doubt in Carson's mind that the wraith feedings had taken their toll on John's body. The fact that his life had been restored, and he looked his usual young self again could be masking other problems. He had no idea how a wraith could give life, any more than he fully understood how they took it. All Carson knew was that he had one very sick colonel on his hands.

"All done, Colonel. I'll get Melissa to come and sort you out. I'm afraid it's gown time again. Just try and relax. I'll get you something for the nausea and pain momentarily."

John nodded almost imperceptibly, and his eyes remained tightly shut as he tried to breathe through his pain. Being sucked dry by a wraith and then rejuvenated certainly had its down side, and John wasn't sure how much more of the downside he could stand.

Tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Thanks, as usual, to the lovely Kodiak for keeping me on the straight and narrow!_

Chapter 2.

Carson had given John the promised medication several hours before, yet John still wasn't feeling the benefit. His nausea had continued to the point that Carson had needed to put in a second IV line, this time in John's right hand. He had started to become dehydrated, and as John couldn't even keep a few sips of water down, and was sweating out the fluids from his existing IV, another line was essential, so Carson had explained. That had left John with both hands sore and aching, and complaining every time he moved them. Those were the least of his problems though.

John's stomach felt like someone had kicked him repeatedly, his throat burned and his back ached mercilessly. He also felt feverish and sweaty, and was finding it hard to concentrate. He felt so tired; exhausted summed his present mood, yet much needed sleep eluded him. Every time he shut his eyes and drifted into a restless slumber, he saw the wraith above him, and even felt the hand on his chest – and the agonising pain that had followed that.

Opening sweat-filled eyes, John saw Teyla's blurry features above him.

"Teyla?" he asked groggily.

John saw the Athosian smiling compassionately down at him.

"I would ask how you are feeling, but I can see that you are unwell. Can I do anything to help?"

John stifled the small chuckle that threatened to hysterically leave his dry lips.

"You could shoot me. Put me out of my misery," he answered, not entirely without levity.

Teyla's face showed both her indignation and surprise at John's words.

"I will do no such thing. We nearly lost you, John, and though I am sorry you are hurting, I am glad you are at least here to feel your pain, as unpleasant as that is for you. We could have lost you – I thought we had," she replied sternly, but with emotion tinged in her voice.

Ouch. John flinched at the gentle rebuke in his friend's voice. Teyla was right, as usual. Yes, he felt like crap, yes, John knew he was in for a rough couple of days, if he was lucky, but he was alive – and young, and that was something he should be grateful for.

"Sorry. Just not feeling so great at the moment. Just ignore me," John replied as he swallowed down another bout of nausea.

John felt Teyla gently wipe a cool cloth across his hot forehead, and he let out an involuntary sigh.

"You do not need to apologise, John. You have been though more than anyone should. Perhaps if you talked about it…"

"No!'

John's answer was short and to the point and he was a little surprised at his anger.

Teyla smiled again, John noticed, as he peered at her through his half-lidded eyes.

"I understand. Shall I sit with you, or would you like me to leave?"

If John had felt bad before, he felt much worse after his little uncontrolled outburst. Teyla's understanding and sensitive nature really made him feel…small, and pathetic in comparison.

"God, I'm sorry, Teyla. It's just…" John closed his eyes as he tried to put into words what he was feeling. "Every time I close my eyes…I…I see him, and I feel the pain of him feeding on me. It's bad enough that I feel like crap, without having to come to terms with being fed on, and everybody watching…" John faltered again, as his grip on his emotions started to waver. His carefully constructed wall of emotional indifference was crumbling, and he didn't want anyone to see him trying to fight his way out of the rubble.

John felt a cool hand on his arm.

"You do not have to say anything," Teyla gently soothed. "If what happened to you had happened to me, I would be feeling humiliation now; frustration and anger at my violation and inability to escape my torturers. That my friends had witnessed my torture…it would be very painful for me to come to terms with, and I understand how you must be feeling." John felt a small waft of warm air caress his face as Teyla chuckled. "However, I know you have difficulty expressing these feelings to me. I know you would tell me those things if you were able to say them out loud."

John sighed and looked up at Teyla.

"You know me too well."

"I think I do. You are dreaming because you have a fever. You should rest now. Carson says sleep will help you to heal," Teyla explained.

"Where's Ronon? Is he okay, and Rodney?" John asked in concern, suddenly remembering that he hadn't seen his two other team-members since his incarceration in the infirmary.

Teyla shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Rodney is most upset, Elizabeth sent him to see Dr. Heightmeyer. He is presently in his lab, working. Though I do not think he will accomplish much," Telya reported evenly. "Ronon is…angry. He is 'letting off steam', as you would say, in the gym with some of the marines. I do not think the marines will be happy in the morning."

John smiled tiredly, and pain crossed his features as a spike of agony from his flank radiated upwards and outwards again.

"Don't suppose they will. Are you ok?" John asked a little quickly, trying to get past his pain.

Teyla creased her brow at John's question, noticing her friend's discomfort.

"I am fine. It is enough that you have been returned safely to us, nothing else matters. You should sleep. I will stay."

"'Kay. Thanks."

John closed his eyes, and drifted into a restless sleep as he felt Teyla gently wipe the cool cloth across his forehead again.

-oOo-

The pain was indescribable. Nerves screamed in agony at their abuse. Pain radiated from his chest, snaking down his torso, up into his shoulders, into his arms, and stole his breath away. John felt the tacky warmth of blood above his heart, and shivered as he felt his life being stolen away from him. Being unable to bear it any longer, he did what he had tried not to do – he screamed. He cried out until his throat burned and he had no breath left, until the pain finally ebbed away - leaving John spent, shuddering and panting. He felt the salty tang of tears in his mouth, and knew he should have been furious at his weakness in giving in to his tormentor. The wraith craved his fear, longed to bear witness to his pain, but John was past caring.

In the distance, he heard a soft voice calling him, and as he came back to himself, John realised it wasn't the wraith or Kolya demanding his attention - it was a familiar Scottish brogue.

"Colonel. It's all right, Son. It's just a dream. It's over, I promise you. That's it, Lad. Try and breathe slowly and deeply for me."

John felt something being placed over his mouth and nose – a mask. He recognised the familiar hiss of the oxygen and greedily breathed in the much-needed gas.

Moaning, as he rolled his head slightly to the side, John managed to prise open his eyes, and sure enough, Carson's face gradually came in to focus.

"That's better. I know you're confused and frightened, but you're safe, in the infirmary on Atlantis. You've taken a turn for the worse, I'm afraid. That's why you've been having these nasty old dreams." John saw the pained look on the doctor's face. "You've got a wee build up of toxins in your blood, and a nasty fever, and that's why you're not feeling so good."

"Don't let it feed on me again - please? It hurts," John pleaded breathlessly in his confusion, as he weakly batted away the mask covering his face. Why was Beckett there and not helping him? "I…I can feel it taking my life, and there's nothing I can do…I don't think…I…I can't take any more." John closed his eyes in shame that he'd begged for his torment to end.

"It's okay, Son. Listen to me, it's over. You're on Atlantis. You're safe, and everything's going to be all right."

John felt a tug on his hand, and flinched away. What were they doing to him now?

"I'm just giving you something to help you relax, Colonel. You need to sleep, and this will help."

John groaned as another wave of pain assaulted him, deep in his flank. Ronon. Where was Ronon? He'd end this.

"Can you find Ronon? He'd…he'd stop the wraith…and Kolya. Wouldn't hesitate to kill him…I did, and look…where that's got me…Won't make…mistake…'gain."

Carson sighed in relief as his patient finally succumbed to the medication, but bit his lower lip as he took in John's words. Carson mused that Ronon wouldn't be needed if he got anywhere near Kolya in the future. He may be a doctor, but even doctors could be pushed too far.

Carson checked over John one last time, gently replacing the mask John had dislodged, and headed towards his office to catch up on much needed paperwork.

-oOo-

Several hours later, Carson looked up from his messy desk to see Elizabeth approaching, anxiety obvious on her care-worn features.

"I just went to see John, and he was…I don't know what he was, as your nurse chased me away. Carson, he was screaming in agony. What the hell's wrong with him?"

Carson stood, and guided Elizabeth to a chair, and walked to a nearby table, pouring her a cup of coffee from the jug simmering there. Passing the steaming cup to Atlantis' distressed leader, he walked back to his desk, and sat, putting his own cup down, before running a weary hand though his hair

"His kidneys are failing. He's delirious, feverish, and to complicate matters, the wraith enzyme is pumping around his system." Carson reached and snagged his mug, taking a cautious sip of the coffee, before returning it to its former resting-place. "I've also discovered another enzyme in his blood, and I have no idea what it is or does. Quite simply, he's a mess. He keeps hallucinating and re-living the feedings he suffered, and no amount of soothing or reassuring helps, I'm afraid. It's very distressing for my staff, and as for the poor Colonel…" Carson's worlds trailed off, and he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Elizabeth nodded, and chewed her lip, before cradling her own cup to her chest, trying to find comfort in the warmth radiating from the china.

"What can we do? Can we get some enzyme and wean him off it?"

Carson exhaled and briefly closed his eyes.

"I don't know how much that would help. It's not simple withdrawal he's going through. Any more enzyme could kill him, and it's possibly the other, unidentified enzyme that's causing the complications with his kidneys. His body has suffered terrible trauma, and there were bound to be consequences."

Carson exhaled, and took in a deep breath. "If he continues to deteriorate, I'll have no choice but to send him back to Earth for dialysis. I just don't have the equipment I need here, and the medications I've got the colonel on, just don't seem to be helping at the moment."

Weir sighed and sipped her drink.

"How long before we get to that stage?"

"He's not producing any urine at the moment, which is why his body is such a mess, or partly why. His kidneys are failing to filter the toxins from his body, and he's retaining fluids. If there's no improvement in the next twelve hours or so, we should go ahead and send him through the 'gate. He'll stand a better chance on Earth."

Elizabeth exhaled and pursed her lips.

"Can he recover from this?"

"Yes. Acute renal failure is totally reversible, especially if it's due to narcotic or toxic poisoning, which I believe is somewhat akin to what the colonel's suffering from. If it's not, and his whole body is failing, then I'd have expected to see some signs of multiple organ failure, and as yet, I haven't."

Elizabeth smiled slightly, and her eyes searched Carson's face hopefully.

"That's good, isn't it?"

Carson sipped the last of his coffee, and grunted.

"Yes. Multiple organ failure would not be a good thing right now. Don't get me wrong, even if the colonel recovers quickly from this, there are still possible problems ahead. Infection's a risk, for one."

Carson was interrupted by one of his nurses rushing into his office.

"Doctor Beckett? Melissa asked me to get you. Colonel Sheppard's seizing!"

"Damn. Wait here, Elizabeth. I'll let you know when I have any news," Carson shouted as he ran from his office at full pelt.

Elizabeth watched in shock as the doctor left, and let her head fall into her hands.

Lifting her head, she sighed.

"Oh, John. What now?"

Tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

Consequences of life.

Chapter 3.

_Thanks so much for the reviews, and a big thanks to the wonderful Kodiak for her beta skills._

Carson ran into the infirmary and over to John's bed, where Melissa was attempting to hold down a convulsing John.

"Thank goodness you're here," the flustered nurse exclaimed, as she battled to stop her patient from falling out of bed. "I couldn't get the side of the bed up, and I was worried the colonel would end up on the floor," she continued as Carson assisted in keeping John from heading over the edge of the bed.

Suddenly John's body relaxed, and Carson immediately began barking out orders to his nurses, ordering blood tests and vitals to be taken immediately.

"The colonel's temp is 40, Doctor Beckett," Melissa informed Carson calmly.

"Right. Let's strip him and start sponging him down. Get the fan in here; we're going to need it. I don't want to use cooling pads unless we have to; the poor lad's been through quite enough already. I have a feeling he's got an infection on top of everything else."

Melissa expertly removed John's gown, carefully covering the lower half of his body with his sheet, as Carson listened to John's heart and chest with his stethoscope.

"Can you help me roll him, love?" he asked Melissa.

After Carson had completed his examination, he and the nurse situated John comfortably again, adjusting the oxygen mask. Sarah, the other nurse on duty, efficiently took the bloods Carson had ordered, rushing away with the half-filled test tubes.

Carson sighed as he looked at John's still form.

"Let's get him on the heart monitor, Melissa. I'm going to start him on antibiotics – I don't want to wait for the labs to come back. He's sounding a little congested on the left side. I'm also worried about what his bloods are going to show. I have a horrible feeling he's going downhill rapidly, and I want to watch for hyperkalaemia." Looking at John, Carson exhaled in frustration. "You can't just take it easy on me, can you, lad?" he asked rhetorically of the unconscious man.

As if to answer, John stirred restlessly, and Carson heard a muffled groan under the mask.

"It's all right, Colonel. You're going to be fine. Go back to sleep," he soothed.

From under the mask Carson heard a breathless and muffled 'hot', and the doctor sighed as he leaned down and looked at John.

"I know you are. I'm going to give you something to help bring your fever down shortly, and Melissa's going to try and cool you with some water. You'll feel better soon, I promise."

Whether his patient heard him or not, Carson didn't know, but John mumbled something softly, and then settled down into a restless sleep again.

-oOo-

Carson trudged wearily back to his office to find a pacing Elizabeth waiting there.

"How is he?" she anxiously asked, and Carson inwardly grimaced at her haggard and sunken-looking features.

"Not good. I'm waiting for some labs to come back, but I think it's safe to say that on top of everything else, he's got an infection. God knows what he could have picked up on that planet overnight."

Elizabeth swallowed and closed her eyes. Opening them, she chewed her lip, before exhaling.

"Anything else?"

"I won't know for sure until I get his bloods back, but his kidneys look to be heading for full-blown failure now. Despite the medications he's on, his urine output's minimal. I've upped his diuretics as much as I dare, but he's getting pretty waterlogged. It's not looking good, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth nodded, and headed for the door. Carson could see that she was near the point of breaking down. Feeling impotent, the doctor called after her, and as she heard Carson's voice, Elizabeth momentarily halted.

"I'll keep you informed. Try and get something to eat and then sleep, Elizabeth," he ordered gently.

"Thanks," Elizabeth managed to reply, before walking away briskly.

-oOo-

Carson sighed and wearily checked John's monitors. He and his nurses had succeeded in lowering John's temperature, which was holding at a balmy 38 degrees, but Carson was very concerned about his patient's general deterioration.

A few hours previously, John had developed a heart arrhythmia, and when the bloods had returned, sure enough everybody's favourite colonel had succumbed to hyperkalaemia. No big surprise there, Carson had thought, as he'd given John calcium and various other medications to try and lower John's potassium levels. As also expected, John's white blood count was elevated, meaning he was battling some sort of infection. Things were really starting to go pear-shaped.

A soft moan from John had Carson checking his patient again, and looking down saw a pair of glassy, half-lidded eyes peering up at him.

"You decided to join us again, Colonel?"

The unintelligible groan that answered Carson had him lifting up John's oxygen mask and lowering his head to try and hear what his patient was saying.

"Carrr..sn? What's…where…am I? Chest hurts…" came the breathy, pained voice.

"You're in the infirmary, Son. Everything's fine. We're all safe, so don't worry." Carson lowered the mask again, and continued, in a soft, soothing voice. "You're a wee bit under the weather. You've got a few nasty things floating around in your blood that are making you sick. We're going to get that sorted soon."

"How…much…did he take?" John mumbled tiredly.

Carson's face showed his confusion, and he lifted the mask again.

"How much did who take?" the doctor queried, before he suddenly put two and two together. "Oh Christ, lad. The wraith?" Carson exhaled and gently squeezed John's shoulder. "He took nothing. Well, he did, but he gave it all back, lad. Do you not remember?"

John's face screwed up in confusion and concentration.

"No…I don't. Just remember…" John stopped mid-sentence and swallowed, "pain. In my chest…" His voice drifted, and John screwed his eyes tightly shut, just as his heart monitor started to emit irregular, but quickening beeps.

Carson instantly studied the display on the machine and reached for a syringe on a tray next to John's bed. He placed the mask quickly over John's face again, while simultaneously removing the cover to the needle with his teeth.

"This will help a little, Colonel. Just try and breathe slowly, and I'll get your chest pain under control," Carson soothed as he swiftly injected the contents of the syringe into John's IV port. Watching carefully, Carson relaxed as the monitor's regular, steady beat returned, and his patient's features slackened.

"There you go, Son. I just gave you something to slow your heart down a little. It's been working pretty hard, and was just making its complaint known. It'll be fine now," Carson found himself saying gently to his now sleeping patient. Stooping down, Carson studied the Foley bag hanging at the side of John's bed, and allowed himself a small smile.

"Well, at least something's looking a little more positive – finally," he said to himself. He stood and moved to the bottom of John's bed, and snatched the file placed there. "Well done, Colonel, your plumbing appears to be righting itself," Carson muttered tiredly. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips before heading to a small desk in the corner of the infirmary to write up his most troublesome patient's notes.

-oOo-

John's return to consciousness was slow and confusing. The first thing he was aware of was the hiss of oxygen over his mouth and nose, and the sensation of a mask over his face. He next became aware of hushed voices around him, and prying open heavy eyelids, John made out the forms of two blurry figures by his bed. Moving gingerly, John felt the tug of IV's – one in each hand, and on moving his lower body, the pull of an extremely unpleasant tube somewhere else.

Blinking furiously to try and get everything into focus, John soon saw Carson and Elizabeth chatting quietly by his bed. Lifting his shaky hand to the mask on his face, John cautiously lifted it, and swallowed, lubricating his dry throat.

"Hey," he managed to croak, before his hand gave up the fight, and dropped floppily back to the side of his bed.

"Hey, yourself," Weir replied warmly, as she walked nearer to John. "How are you feeling?"

John frowned and thought about Elizabeth's question before answering.

"Like I got hit by a truck," he answered honestly.

"Aye. Well, renal failure will do that to a person, Colonel," Beckett answered matter-of-factly, as he removed the mask, replacing it with a nasal cannula.

John's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to remember why he could possibly have been suffering from renal failure. Images suddenly flashed into his head, and John's breath hitched as he remembered a searing tendril of agony clawing at his chest, more painful than anything he'd ever felt in his life. His clumsy, IV laden hands scrabbled wildly at his loose gown, and he pulled it downwards, as his hands desperately sought the skin exposed there. The flesh felt smooth, undisturbed - normal. How could that be? He'd been fed on by a wraith; had his life sucked out of him. John remembered the ache of the wound, and the wet, sticky blood oozing down his chest.

"John…John? Look at me."

John looked up at Elizabeth's pale and anxious face.

"You're okay. He restored the life he took – he gave you everything back. You're still the handsome young flyboy you used to be," she joked, but John could hear the hurt in Elizabeth's strained voice.

Memories flooded back again, and John remembered the wraith taking nearly everything from him and his precious life force being ripped ruthlessly from him. The pain was indescribable, the weakness of his failing body, overwhelming. Then John remembered even more pain, and a surge of strength returning to his frail body that made him cry out. Then the wraith was gone, torn away from him by…Ronon.

"I remember," John whispered shakily. "I remember."

John closed his eyes as relief flooded him. He wasn't an old, frail, useless man – he was what he was before this whole mess - John Sheppard, thirty-something military commander of Atlantis.

"God. I thought…I thought…"

Carson gently manoeuvred Elizabeth out of the way, and placed his face in John's line of vision.

"Aye. You've been a wee bit confused, Son. Would you like me to explain what's been happening to you?"

John nodded, and closed his eyes as the impact of Kolya's little power struggle hit home.

"Okay. When we arrived here, you soon became sick. Yes, the wraith had restored your life – but there were consequences – consequences to your body by him giving you back your life. Your body didn't like an enzyme he very generously deposited in your blood stream. It disagreed with your kidneys, and they started to complain, extremely loudly. You also picked up a bit of a chest infection." John felt Carson's hand on his shoulder, as the physician gently squeezed, offering some comfort to his patient. "You're doing fine now. Your body's metabolised the enzyme, and your kidneys are slowly recovering. It'll take a good few days before you start to feel like anything approaching normal again, I'm afraid. You need sleep, and plenty of it."

John nodded, keeping his eyes tightly squeezed shut to keep burning tears from escaping. The ramifications of his torture left John feeling vulnerable; his weakened physical state compounding his feelings of inadequacy and humiliation. Yet, at the same time he felt immense relief. Shit, he was a mess.

Suddenly registering that Carson and Elizabeth were there, John bit his lip and braced himself. He opened his eyes, and blinked back tears.

"Everybody's okay?" his gruff voice asked.

"Everyone's fine John. Just get well, okay?" Elizabeth soothed, but John could hear the slight wobble in her usually strong voice.

"'Kay," he answered tiredly.

"Just get some rest, Colonel," John distantly heard Carson's voice as exhaustion pulled at him. His eyelids suddenly felt like lead, and he couldn't keep them open. Everything faded to black, as John succumbed to much-needed sleep.

-oOo-

Carson watched Elizabeth's shaky hands holding the coffee cup to her thinned lips.

"He'll be fine, love, honestly. He just needs plenty of rest, and time."

Elizabeth lowered her cup and put it down on Carson's desk.

"I know. He just looked so…" she searched for the right word, and shrugged when it eluded her. "Carson, he was terrified, and hurt and so…vulnerable. I'm not used to seeing John Sheppard like that, and you know what? It scared the hell out of me."

Elizabeth let her head fall into her hands, and groaned. Talking through her hands, she massaged her face, trying to relieve the tension she was feeling. "I keep hoping this has all been one big, horrific nightmare, and that I'm going to wake up soon, but I'm not going to wake up, because this nightmare is real, isn't it?"

Carson sighed deeply, and stood, walking quickly round his desk to where Weir sat. He reached out and patted her arm.

"Aye. It's real all right. It's going to take all of us a long time to come to terms with this, but we have to be strong for Colonel Sheppard." Carson walked back to his chair and plopped down on it, before sipping from his coffee mug.

"If he sees how much we feel sorry for him, how we're hurt by this, it can only make his recovery longer, Elizabeth. Once his physical health has returned, his psychological and emotional wounds need to heal too. Knowing him, that won't be easy. He'll internalise everything, tell us he's fine, and suffer in silence, like he always does. We need to get him to talk, but he needs us to treat him exactly the same as we did before this whole fiasco happened."

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief.

"How on Earth can we carry on as if nothing happened? We all saw what Kolya did to him…witnessed his torture…how brave he was. God, I don't think I'd have faced what he did with such composure. I can't just pretend everything's okay – because it isn't!"

"Elizabeth! Listen to me. What the colonel needs now is normality. He needs things to carry on as they did before. Yes, we need to deal with what we all saw – privately. We'll be there for him, but if he senses we're treading on eggshells around him, or that we pity him…well, I think you and I both know him well enough to now how he'll react to that."

Elizabeth nodded, and slowed her quickened breathing.

"Okay. I see your point. Sorry, Carson. It's just…I feel I could, should have done more. Maybe if I'd…"

"Don't go there, Elizabeth. You did everything you could. Kolya's a sneaky bastard. Do you really think if you'd handed Ladon over that he'd have given the Colonel back?"

Shaking her head in resignation, Elizabeth smiled half-heartedly.

"No, I don't. That doesn't make me feel better though. I think I should talk to Kate. I think we all need to speak to her."

Carson chuckled and raised his eyebrows.

"Kate's going to be very busy. Do you know how many people from the control room have come to me for sleeping tablets after what they saw?" Carson asked rhetorically.

"When John realises how many people saw what Kolya did to him…it's going to hit him hard, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked, knowing the answer to her question already.

Carson pursed his lips and let out a huff of breath.

"Aye. But, we'll be here for him. He'll get over this – eventually."

Elizabeth stood and turned to leave.

"I hope you're right, Carson," she replied sadly as she walked out of the doctor's office.

Tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

Consequences.

_Thanks for being so patient. I apologise for the delay in updating! I'll endeavour to update more quickly from now on. Thanks again to Kodiak for her superb beta skills._

Chapter 4

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling today?" Carson asked as he approached John's bed.

"Mornin', Doc. I'm good - better, I think," John replied sleepily, as he stretched and yawned.

The last forty-eight hours had seen John sleeping much of the time, healing, Carson had said to him, and John had to admit, physically at least, he felt much better. Well, there was hardly any pain, which constituted better to John. The catheter was out, he'd managed to walk, albeit aided, to the bathroom, and had even managed to eat a little soup. One IV remained, but Carson had promised that would be taken out imminently.

"You certainly have a better colour, Colonel. I've sent Melissa to get you some breakfast, just a little cereal I'm afraid, and we'll see how you get on with that. If you keep it down, then I'll see about taking out that IV."

John smiled tiredly at the doctor. He'd been plagued by nausea over the previous few days. Carson had told John it was partly his body recovering from the renal failure, and partly shock, as his brain tried to sieve through his memories and trauma and make sense of everything.

"Okay. Sounds fair." John suddenly found himself in the middle of a giant yawn, and absent-mindedly raised his hand to cover his mouth. "Sorry. Guess I'm still tired," he apologised, shrugging and looking sheepishly at Carson.

"Aye. You'll be feeling that tiredness for a while, Lad." Carson pulled up a chair and sat down. "You're doing really well. As I explained last night, your kidney function is returning to normal, and things are looking good. The enzymes have been metabolised by your body too, which is excellent. However," Carson paused and looked John in the eye. "There are consequences to suffering from renal failure. You don't just get up and walk away. You'll feel exhausted for a week or so, and need to be monitored carefully. Don't worry if some days you feel washed out, that's quite normal, and to be expected."

John exhaled and shook his head reproachfully.

"Way to cheer a guy up, Doc," he muttered to himself.

Carson had the grace to look sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. I thought you'd want it straight," he smiled apologetically.

"Yeah, I do. Sorry. Got a few things on my mind, and feeling as weak as a newborn lamb, as you so aptly put it, isn't really my thing, you know?" John explained, as he looked down at his hands, and started picking at the tape holding the IV in place.

Carson gently moved John's hand away from the IV, and raised his eyebrows.

"Don't fuss with that, Colonel, or it stays," he warned light-heartedly.

When John didn't answer, but just stared into his lap, Carson gently squeezed his friend's shoulder.

"Colonel? You all right, Son?"

John suddenly looked up, startled by Carson's words and touch.

"Sorry," John apologised. "I've, er, been thinking about things on and off, and dreaming, and…well, having nightmares probably describes it better… " John exhaled and looked up. "It's just been sort of weird for me. Getting sick, and…you know…everything with the Wraith and all." John lifted a shaky hand to massage his temples. "Guess I need some time to sort everything out in my head."

"You know what I'm going to say, Colonel. Give yourself that time. Don't expect too much from yourself too quickly. You'll be speaking to Kate soon enough." Carson gave John one of his whether you like it or not looks. "Don't bother arguing about it, because I won't let you out of here until you do." Carson's face softened, and he reached out to pat John's arm. "She'll help you get things sorted out, Lad. Get things in perspective."

Melissa arriving with a tray interrupted Carson. "Try and eat something. I'll be back later to give you a thorough going over."

"'Kay," John replied. "Doc? Thanks for everything, and I will talk to Kate."

Carson's face broke into a broad smile.

"Good Lad. Eat up now."

John watched Carson walk away, and looked down at the steaming bowl of sloppy oatmeal. He grimaced as he picked up the spoon and dipped it into the grey looking gloop. Gulping, John put the spoon to his lips, and forced himself to open his mouth. He swallowed convulsively and felt himself gagging slightly as the mixture ran down the back of his throat.

Knowing eating was a must if he were to stand a chance of escaping Carson's clutches any time soon, John forced himself to finish the cereal, and sipped on the juice from his tray. He vaguely remembered that Kolya hadn't given him food or water for the duration of his incarceration.

_Kolya._ John never wanted to think about that bastard again. What he'd done to John was inhumane, and for the life of him, John couldn't understand that. Sure, he'd done a lot of things he wasn't proud of himself over the years. He'd killed without hesitation on occasion. That's what soldiers did. But, to torture just so you could have more power? God, there were evil bastards in the Pegasus Galaxy. Obviously a universal constant; have humans, have meglomaniacal creeps who'll screw over anyone to get what they want. John suddenly felt his stomach clench as the realisation of what had happened sunk in. Memories flooded back into his confused and over-loaded brain. Kolya's stern face, the wraith's hunger and need, his own helplessness…everybody he cared about watching as he had years torn away from him

Kolya had tortured him in front of his team. In front of Elizabeth, Rodney, Ronon, Teyla and…half of the control room, no doubt. Feeling more and more nauseous as the ramifications of Kolya's little video feed to Atlantis hit home, John looked around desperately for help. He needed to get out of this place, get away from the wraith…save himself. John knew his team would come, but would it be in time to save him from a fate worse than death? To be left an old, impotent soldier was worse than dying to John.

A nurse approaching saw John's mad scramble out of his bed, as he desperately clambered out of his sheets, ripping the IV in his hand in his panic. As she rushed towards him, calling John's name, he came back to reality, and swallowed as a wave of nausea overtook him. Grabbing a basin on her way, the nurse ran towards John, as he sunk to his knees on the floor, dizziness overwhelming him. She stuck the basin under John's chin just as the oatmeal made its way up his oesophagus, and left his mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity of heaving, John found himself being gently lifted up and guided back to his bed, and being pushed down onto soft pillows, with Carson's soothing voice comforting him. When had Carson arrived? John wondered in his confused and exhausted state.

"That's it, Colonel. Let's lay you back down for a bit. I'm just going to give you something for your nausea, and something to settle you."

John heard Carson's words, and was aware of a cool liquid travelling up his arm. He soon found himself drifting in a hazy fog.

"This'll make you feel a bit sleepy, so just close your eyes, and rest, Son."

John heard Carson's voice and mumbled to himself.

"What was that, Lad?"

"I said, why did he do that to me? He didn't have to humiliate me like that…don't know why…"

John's muffled words ceased as he gave into sleep.

"I'm so sorry, Colonel," Carson whispered as he began to examine John and take the unconscious man's vitals.

When he'd finished his examination, Carson watched as his nurse Melissa cleaned John up, gently wiping his face with a cloth and finally adjusting his sheet and blankets with special care. The nurse's gaze lingered on her patient, and Melissa sighed.

"It's just not fair. He didn't deserve what was done to him. When I think what the colonel must have gone through…"

Carson nodded sympathetically, and put his arm around his distressed nurse.

"Aye, I know, love. Kolya wouldn't be sneering now if I got my hands on him, that's for sure. Let's get you some coffee. We need to try and be strong for him, and not let our feelings show. I know it's hard, but he's going to need us over the next few days."

Melissa wiped furiously at a tear that was dribbling its way down her cheek.

"I know, Doctor Beckett. I'd never let him see me upset. I'm sorry," she answered quickly, embarrassed at her emotional display.

"I know, lass. Don't worry about it, it's perfectly understandable. This is hard on all of us. Come on, let's get that coffee now. I don't know about you, but I really need it."

-oOo-

John felt the searing agony in his chest, more painful than anything he'd ever felt before in his life, and he was hardly a stranger to pain. The Iratus bug and his conversion into bug man after the retrovirus fiasco had made sure of that. The tendrils of fire spread through his body, stealing his breath away. Throughout the feeding, John saw the Wraith's hungry eyes, heard his feral growl, and sensed the creature's delight at his appetite being sated.

As the pain intensified, John tried to move, but found himself paralysed; something was holding him down, restricting his limbs.

"Colonel, Colonel! Listen to me, it's all right. You're safe. It's just a dream."

The voice washed over John, and he suddenly became aware of his surroundings as he opened his eyes with a start, jerking helplessly as he was restrained by – Beckett and a nurse, John noted distantly.

"Just try and breathe slowly, Lad. It was just a dream. You're in Atlantis, in the infirmary, and you're fine."

Carson's voice soothed John, and he found himself able to slow his breaths and relax, as his limbs were released from the weight of Carson and Melissa's hands.

"God. Sorry, Doc," John panted, swiping at his forehead as beads of sweat joined together and started forming droplets which ran into his eyes.

"That's ok, Colonel, and quite normal after what you've experienced. So, no need to apologise." Carson sighed and handed John a glass of water. "It's going to take your head a little while to process what's happened to you and for you to come to terms with recent events, I'm afraid. Do you want to talk about your dream?"

John swallowed and looked nervously at the doctor, and returned the now half-empty glass to Carson with a shaking hand. John watched his hand, and quickly withdrew it; returning it to his lap, and noting that the previous IV had now moved to the crook of his inner arm.

"Not really. I…I just keep re-living him feeding on me, and the pain…I feel the pain as if it's happening all over again." John closed his eyes shut tight, as he desperately fought to control himself.

Carson exhaled, and waved his nurse away, sitting down on the ever present bedside chair.

"That's to be expected, Colonel. You've experienced both physical and mental torture, and though your body, thankfully, was restored by the wraith, it couldn't cope with what he'd done to you." Carson smiled grimly at John. "Your brain couldn't either, and not surprisingly enough, it's trying to cope the only way it knows how – by processing what it experienced by way of dreaming."

John nodded feebly and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Thing is, Doc, I can live with the pain…I…I can tolerate what the wraith did to me, hell, I even understand what he did. Kolya? I hate him – with a vengeance - but…but," John paused as he found his earlier nausea returning. "I can't live with everyone watching what Kolya did to me. He…he tortured me in front of a room full of my friends, colleagues and my men. I was - helpless, vulnerable and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."

John squeezed his eyes shut again, and groaned as his stomach started to cramp. Rolling onto his side, he curled in a tight ball as he felt sweat forming on his back and head. John found himself panting desperately to try and quell his rising nausea. God, he was acting like a frightened kid. He really needed to get control of himself, stop giving in to his stupid memories, John desperately thought.

John's body wasn't willing to give in though, and suddenly he bolted upright, hand over mouth as the water he'd just drunk spewed out of his mouth violently.

Carson reached for an emesis basin and thrust it under John's chin, simultaneously supporting John and murmuring sympathetically until the heaving subsided, and John felt himself being lowered gently onto his back.

John felt spent, dazed and sore – and even more humiliated than before. He distantly heard Carson call for Melissa, and shivered as his gown was removed and he was sponged down, before a fresh, crisp one was gently put on him. He was aware of his bedding being removed and fresh sheets and warm blankets being swiftly put over him. John wondered if he could really feel any lower that he was currently feeling. He'd survived multiple wraith feedings, just to be puking in the infirmary like a rookie soldier, who'd made his first kill. Why couldn't he get past this? What was so bad about everyone seeing what Kolya did to him? John already knew the answer to that. Kolya had taken away the one thing John always relied on – his control. Kolya had taken that away knowing what it would do to John. Not personal? Yeah, right. John made a vow that when he got through this, he'd make Kolya pay a heavy price for his actions. _When_ he got through this? John suddenly thought again. _If_, was a better word.

John realised he was in this way over his head, losing his precious control, having it taken away like that, and he was scared where that would lead. John felt himself shiver again, this time it had nothing to do with the cold, and then he welcomed the darkness that crept up and enveloped him.

-oOo-

"Carson? You wanted to see me? Is something wrong with John?"

An anxious Elizabeth Weir walked determinedly into Carson's office.

"Come and sit down, Elizabeth," Carson ordered gently. "Firstly, physically, Colonel Sheppard is doing as well as can be expected. He's recovering slowly but surely from the renal failure and strain his body has been under."

"But?" Elizabeth laughed sadly, while nervously rubbing her thighs. "There's always a but, isn't there?" she asked.

Carson grimaced, and exhaled.

"The colonel is understandably showing signs of mental trauma following his capture and torture. He keeps 're-living', for want of a better description, the wraith's feedings on him, and I'm concerned he's starting to show some signs of PTSD, making him physically sicker again, which is the last thing he needs."

Elizabeth nodded, resigned to the fact that that was a possibility after talking to Kate Heightmeyer.

"Okay, that's not entirely unexpected. How bad is he?"

Carson's eyebrows furrowed in thought as he considered Elizabeth's question.

"At this stage it's impossible to say. Colonel Sheppard internalises everything, so it's hard to know what's going on in his head. If we can get him to talk to Kate about his feelings, and experiences, then maybe we can stop this in its tracks…"

Carson paused and wearily massaged the back of his neck.

"But…" Elizabeth continued for the doctor. "Knowing John, he'll talk, but not really say what's bothering him so much."

"In all fairness to Colonel Sheppard, he did explain something of what's he's having difficulty coming to terms with – not that anyone would be bloody well able to come to terms with what that bastard Kolya did to him." Carson paused as he composed himself, pushing his anger aside. "He's finding it hard to cope with the fact that everyone witnessed his torture; his vulnerability, the humiliation he felt at being used like that – just as we thought he would. Unfortunately that's pretty hard to come to terms with – especially for such an independent and proud person as the colonel." Carson paused and chewed his lip, dreading what he had to say next. "Elizabeth – I'm pretty worried for him, and just hope Kate can come up with some ideas as to how to help him with this. If he continues to suffer his present symptoms we'll have to re-consider our position here. Quite honestly we're a little out of our depth, and we may well have to consider sending him back to Earth."

Elizabeth started at Carson's words.

"No. He'd want to stay here… be treated in Atlantis," Elizabeth replied instantly.

"I know. However, if he continues to deteriorate, I'll have no choice but to insist he receive the treatment he deserves on Earth. Quite simply, he could become a danger to himself, and I simply don't have the resources here to help him."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and let out a breath of air.

"Let's just hope Kate can help him, then," she answered with a steely resolve, as she stood and walked briskly away.

Tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

_This chapter deals with the psychological fallout from Sheppard's torture. Thanks to Kodiak for her wonderful beta skills!_

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling today?" Kate asked brightly as she pulled up a chair next to John's bed. She knew she'd likely get the standard 'I'm good' answer from John, but she hoped to get more, she had to get more if she was going to be of help to her patient.

The last few days had seen John withdrawing from those around him and showing periods of depression or aggression. His nightmares were constant, and several times Carson or his nurses had had difficulty waking John or bringing him back to the present.

John had initially agreed to talk to Kate, but their first few sessions had proved fruitless, with John refusing to discuss his feelings, and trying to say what he thought Kate wanted to hear. Kate knew how smart John was, and that he'd run rings around psychologists in the past.

Something worried Kate intrinsically about John's present mental state. Usually he'd be desperate to escape the infirmary, but he'd shown no inclination to leave Carson's care, and she knew Carson was worried about John's nausea and poor appetite.

Kate watched John warily for his reply to her salutation.

The object of her attention exhaled and ran a shaky hand through his wild hair.

"Let's see…" he began in a voice betraying his agitated state. "I had nightmares all night. You know the kind?…The ones that leave you screaming, the sort that you actually think are real, till you find yourself being shaken awake by two nurses." He paused and swallowed. "I lost my breakfast, and Carson told me that if I can't keep my food down soon, he's going to have to give me some sort of reinforced milkshake drink, which probably won't stay down either. So, all in all, I think it's fair to say I'm feeling pretty shitty. That's the only way I seem to be feeling lately. How are you?" John asked Kate glibly.

Kate smiled evenly and picked up her PDA.

"I'm good, Colonel. Even better now that you've been so candid."

John's shock must have registered on his face, as Kate sat in John's line of vision, seeking to keep eye contact with him.

"There's nothing wrong with being honest about how you feel, Colonel," she told him gently. "I think you're expecting too much from yourself at the moment. What happened to you was beyond your control; in fact, I think you feel you had no control over what happened to you when you were captured by Kolya."

Closing his eyes, John sighed and sunk back into his pillows.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered tiredly.

John heard Kate tapping on her PDA.

"I know you don't. But, we have a problem here, Colonel. Do you know about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?" she asked in a neutral tone.

John's eyes snapped open. Obviously the reaction she wanted, John realised, as Kate's smiling face greeted him.

"Of course I do. Are you saying that's what's wrong with me? That I'm losing it, and'll soon to be joining the ranks of the mentally incapacitated?" he asked, a little anger present in his voice.

Kate's smile vanished.

"Not at all. However, I believe you are showing the first signs of PTSD. You're showing classic signs of depression. You're having nightmares bordering on episodes of hallucination, and if we don't get a handle on this soon, then you could find yourself back on Earth, in a military hospital, Colonel."

John snorted. Was Kate trying to frighten him into opening up, and admitting he had a problem, and hadn't he already admitted he had one anyway?

"Elizabeth wouldn't allow it," he answered petulantly, knowing that if Carson and Kate insisted he go back to Earth, that Elizabeth would be as impotent as he in stopping that.

As if to confirm his fears, Kate merely raised her eyebrows and searched John's face.

"Do you honestly believe that to be true?" she asked neutrally.

John shrugged insouciantly.

"Well, she kindly arranged for my promotion and got me this command, so who knows?" he answered a little bitterly.

"Does that bother you?" she questioned matter-of-factly.

John shrugged.

"A little, I guess. It would've been nice for the brass to actually say, 'well done, Sheppard, you did a good job out there.' But, I'm not naïve enough to think my record doesn't colour their judgement. I'm a 'loose cannon', and 'don't play by the rules', having a 'problem with the chain of command'. So, yep, it bothers me, but I'm not stupid enough to expect anything different." John paused and frowned. "I'm grateful to Elizabeth. She believed in me – saw something in me I didn't even know was there. I owe her a lot, I'd like to think she owes me too."

Kate nodded in understanding, and sat up a little straighter in her chair.

"I think you underestimate your value sometimes, Colonel. Elizabeth has often told me she couldn't have carried on without you." Kate paused in thought, and looked John in the eye. "You're right, though. She would fight to keep you here. Your faith in her isn't misplaced. However, whether you stay here is mainly up to you."

John snorted as he raised his eyebrows.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" he asked in surprise.

"It's up to you whether you want to get better or not. If you talk to me, and agree to some treatments I want to try, then I believe I can help you. I'm not saying I have a magic wand I can wave to make this all go away – I wish I did. But, I believe if we can discuss your feelings, your fears, and your insecurities, then maybe I can help you come to terms with them and give your mind a much-needed break." Kate paused as she licked her lips a little nervously.

"I have a couple of therapies I'd like to try on you, as well as the cognitive behavioural therapy you're already familiar with from previous sessions we've had."

Pushing himself a little more upright in bed, John exhaled and nodded warily.

"Okay. I'm not stupid enough to realise I'm not coping with this as well as I should be. What do you have in mind?"

Kate crossed her arms and chewed her bottom lip before answering.

"I want you to hear me out before you make any decisions. For either of these therapies to work you have to want to participate in them, okay?"

John nodded again, and wondered what the psychologist had planned for him. He'd experienced the cognitive therapy before, and thought it was pretty useless. Breaking down things that upset you into why they upset you and learning how to deal with them seemed a little self-indulgent to John.

He'd heard some worrying stories over the years about PTSD and the various treatments soldiers had undergone, and hoped whatever Kate was suggesting that it didn't involve group therapy sessions. John knew he'd find it tortuous to share his feelings in front of his team. He'd been tortured enough already, hadn't he? He thought participating in that might just finally send him over the edge.

Kate nodded in return and picked up her PDA, scanning the page in front of her.

"I know you're not going to like this, but with PTSD group therapy has proven to be of great benefit to the patient…"

John zoned out as he distantly heard Kate explain that his team, Carson and Elizabeth had all been forced to witness John's torture first hand; they were as much a part of this as John himself was. How he viewed them seeing his humiliation and torture, as well as how they viewed it were of vital importance in coming to terms with both his and their memories.

"I know you hate sharing your feelings, I also know you're instincts are screaming at you to keep tight-lipped, not show your friends any more of your vulnerabilities, but what you don't realise is that they have fears and the same vulnerabilities too." John felt a sense of dread as he heard Kate's words, and swallowed as he began to feel nauseous. "They don't pity you, they're angry and hurt, and feeling guilty. I really think this would be useful, primarily to you, but to them as well," she concluded.

Kate looked at John's features and noticed how pale he had become. She reached out to touch his arm.

"Are you okay? We can stop if you want to?" she asked quietly.

John looked past Kate, focusing on a spot on the infirmary wall.

"I'm not sure I can do it, Kate," he whispered, his voice small and lost. "I know what you're saying makes sense. I need help – I know that. I also know a little about PTSD. Hell, most pilots know someone who's suffered from it, or have heard about guys who have," he admitted. "I've even heard about group therapy sessions." John paused as he let out a small, desperate laugh. "I knew you'd suggest it. No," he corrected himself quickly. "I'm trying to be honest here, right?" he asked Kate earnestly. "I was dreading you suggesting it. The problem is, it's not who I am…I just don't talk about my feelings…it…it goes against everything I was brought up to believe."

John took in a huge breath, and continued to talk, knowing the sooner he got what he needed to say off his chest, the better.

"My dad never showed any affection or admitted how he felt, unless he was angry – he said it showed weakness. I was his only son, only kid, and I was expected to do the same. There was no great repression, no anger, no traumatic childhood. I just towed the line and have always kept things to myself. It's how I cope," John explained matter-of-factly. "I don't know any other way of coping," he admitted. Suddenly his face became pained and he bit his bottom lip subconsciously as he wrestled with his emotions.

"I'm concerned," John laughed again. "No, scared as hell, that if I let go and show my feelings that - that the damn will bust open, and God help anyone who stands in the way of the oncoming deluge," he admitted in hitching breaths. "I can't lose control like that – I just can't."

Kate smiled comfortingly at her patient and lowered her PDA.

"I wouldn't let it go that far, Colonel. I have had some experience with situations similar to your own, though I don't pretend to be an expert in this field. I promise you, if I saw that happening, I'd intervene. You have my word," she promised solemnly.

"'Kay," John whispered shakily.

Seeing the level of distress just talking about group therapy had caused John, Kate went to stand.

"I think that's enough for today. You look tired, and could do with some rest," she commented, as she started to turn away.

"You said two new therapies. What else did you have in mind?" John asked, curious.

Not quite out of her chair yet, Kate lowered herself back down and turned her head to face John again.

"One of the most successful therapies when treating PTSD seems to be exposure therapy." Kate watched John's face carefully as she talked, trying to judge his reaction to her words.

John snorted with derision.

"You planning on grabbing a wraith and getting him to stand over me, his hand stretched out…trying to feed on me?" he asked with a mixture of humour and hysteria in his voice.

Kate shook her head vehemently, as she realised John was starting to become distressed again.

"No, no, of course not."

"Good, 'cause I actually think that might make me go nuts," John answered with a little levity in his voice. "What exactly is exposure therapy then? I don't think you mean you want me dropping my pants in front of everybody, at least I hope not…for their sakes," he joked.

Kate smiled in relief as the old John Sheppard returned momentarily. She let her smile fade as she began to explain to John what she meant.

John listened calmly to Kate's explanation of what she proposed – until the punchline was delivered.

"Basically the therapy involves you re-living, re-enacting what you experienced, under close supervision from me, of course. The best way for you to do that is to watch the tapes we've kept of your torture."

John's face blanched as he took in Kate's words.

"You…you want me to watch Kolya trying to blackmail Elizabeth and then the wraith sucking the life out of me?" he asked in disbelief. "What good would that do?"

Kate looked John in the eye and grimaced.

"I understand why you wouldn't want to watch them. However, research has shown that re-enacting the traumatic event really does help the patient come to terms with what happened. For you, watching those tapes could prove cathartic. We don't really know why, but that and group therapy appear to be more successful than relying on medications alone."

John stared into space as he considered what Kate was proposing. He'd thought group therapy would be bad. But watching the recordings of his torture? That really was something else.

"I need to think things over," he stated calmly, though his heart was racing, his stomach clenching and his head pounding at Kate's words.

Kate stood and squeezed John's arm.

"That's sensible. You've done incredibly well in our session today, Colonel.

Your candour has surprised me – pleasantly. I'll see you same time tomorrow," she said warmly.

John sank back into his pillows and quietly wished everything and everybody would just go away.

-oOo-

Ronon wandered into John's line of sight, and grunted as he approached his resting CO.

"You alright, Sheppard?" he asked gruffly. "You look like hell."

John looked up at the tall man, and smiled sadly.

"Thanks, big guy. Way to cheer me up."

Ronon shrugged matter-of-factly.

"I call it as I see it," he replied nonchalantly.

John snorted and frowned in thought.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked on impulse.

Ronon shrugged a second time as he perched on the end of John's bed.

"Sure."

John cleared his throat and looked away from the Satedan.

"If what happened to me had happened to you, would you watch the recordings of your torture?"

When Ronon didn't answer immediately, John turned to face him. He saw a confused expression on the dreadlocked man's face.

"They kept copies of the wraith feeding on you?" he asked in surprise.

John nodded, and closed his eyes as he laid back against his pillows.

"Huh. Would I watch? Nope. Don't think so. Why would I want to?" Ronon questioned John in a neutral voice.

"That's what I said. Kate thinks it would help me get over everything, but I'm not sure it would."

Ronon appeared to be thinking about John's plight.

"I don't understand a fair bit about your people, Sheppard. Some of your ways seem pretty strange to me. But, Teyla told me the Doc helped her once. Sorted her head out when she found out she had some wraith in her blood. Don't think I'd have got over that like Telya did. So, if Teyla believes in her, I think you should. You trust Teyla?"

"You know I do," John answered without hesitation. "I just don't trust psychologists."

Ronon snorted in agreegment.

"I don't trust any healing people. If it was me lying where you are, I'd get out of bed, go to the gym and spar until I dropped. That'd work for me. You're not me though. So…maybe you should try what Doc says. I've been talked in to going to some sort of group thing, and believe me I didn't want to go."

John looked across at Ronon in surprise.

"You went to group therapy?" he asked in disbelief, his voice squeaking in amazement at the end of his sentence.

An uncomfortable expression graced Ronon's face as he nodded.

"Yeah. Teyla made me. It wasn't too bad. A bit like women's talk. It seemed to help McKay. Heightmeyer doesn't seem too bad - for a doctor anyway." Ronon shrugged. "Can't say I'm traumatised by what happened to you – just pissed. If you'd stayed old, maybe I'd feel differently. But you're okay. So no point in sweating about it. You Earth people seem to think about things too much. Causes problems when they shouldn't be there if you ask me," Ronon commented dryly.

John chuckled at Ronon's words.

"You could well be right, big guy," he agreed readily.

Ronon scrutinised John's features and a quizzical expression crossed his face.

"Teyla said that your brain chemistry's a bit screwed up, whatever that means. That you're sort of sick in the head. You look all right to me."

"I don't know whether to thank you or be insulted," John answered with humour in his voice. "Kate and Carson have got me on medication to get everything back on track, some drugs called 'selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors'…" John looked at Ronon's confused face, "yeah, don't ask me what they are. They're supposed to sort out what's wrong there. Carson says the chemical imbalance in my brain could be caused by the enzymes he found in my blood after the feedings, or maybe that it's because I've been so sick." John snorted and raised his eyebrows. "'Course, it could be that I'm just going nuts," he laughed a little too loudly.

Ronon grunted softly and looked John over.

"You don't look nuts to me. You going to watch the recordings?" Ronon asked curiously.

It was John's turn to shrug.

"Don't know. If I'm going to get better I guess I have to trust that Kate knows what she's doing. I can't go on like this. I'm being pretty useless to everyone and draining resources," John answered glumly.

"Then stop whining about it and get on with it. Better to meet the enemy face to face, rather than keep trying to evade him."

With that, Ronon stood, slapped John on the arm and strolled off, giving John a lot to think about. John immediately decided to take matters into his own hands. Waiting until the coast was clear, he got surreptitiously out of bed, left the infirmary and headed to his quarters. If he had to watch the wraith enjoying his meal, John was going to do it on his own terms, right now – and alone.

Tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

Consequences

_Thanks to Kodiak for her swift beta!_

Chapter 6

It had been easy for John to slip into his quarters and hack into the secure files on Atlantis' database. He'd quickly copied the files containing the video footage of the wraith feeding on him. He distantly thought he must remember to thank Radek for being such a good teacher. When it came to computers, Rodney and Radek were the most knowledgeable, not forgetting most devious, pair in the Pegasus Galaxy. John had appreciated Radek taking the time to enrol him on his computer hacking course 101, and it had certainly just come in handy.

John knew his presence in the infirmary would be quickly missed; he also knew the first place Carson would hunt for John would be his quarters.

He didn't waste any time, not even bothering to change out of his scrubs. John grabbed his laptop, newly downloaded files saved therein, and high-tailed it to the remotest and most shielded part of Atlantis he could think of, stopping off into a storage room to pick up a Life Signs Detector on the way.

John had explored the City a fair bit at night, alone, and knew a small, heavily shielded room in the bowels of the city, where Rodney wouldn't be able to pick up his lifesigns. He headed there quickly, efficiently and stealthily, computer in tow.

Once in the room, John looked around nervous, before backing up against the nearest wall, and sliding tiredly to the floor, laptop clutched tightly to his chest.

How long he sat there, staring into space, John didn't know, but, suddenly he came back to himself, realising he was shaking uncontrollably.

"Pull yourself together, John," he berated himself. "We're gonna do this – right now."

Putting his laptop on the floor in front of him, John opened the lid, and waited for the machine to ready itself. Selecting the first saved file, he manoeuvred the cursor over 'open' and clicked. He sat back, bringing his knees up to his chest, with his shaking hands hugging his legs fiercely, and forced himself to watch the screen.

-oOo-

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked in concern, as she entered the infirmary.

Carson exhaled and shook his head in disbelief.

"He's done a runner, I'm afraid, and we have no idea where he's gone," Carson explained in exasperation.

"John?" Elizabeth asked sadly.

"Aye. I last checked on him a couple of hours ago, and he appeared to be relaxed and was chatting to Ronon. When one of my nurses went to check on him ten minutes ago, she found his bed empty. I should have seen this coming – damn! "

Elizabeth chewed her bottom lip, and groaned.

"Why would he do this? And, more importantly, where has he gone?" she asked.

Carson gestured for Elizabeth to follow him to his office, and she walked ahead of his outstretched arm, entering the room and sitting on the chair in front of Carson's desk.

"I have no idea. As soon as I realised he'd disappeared, I had Rodney scan for a lone lifesign in places he thought John may have gone to, and sent Melissa to his quarters – both came up empty. Ronon thought he might've gone to the gym, but he isn't there either. I can only conclude he doesn't want to be found. I really thought…"

Carson's voice paused as he tapped his earpiece.

"Go ahead Radek," Carson called into his earpiece's microphone.

The doctor listened, as Elizabeth looked on, wondering what the scientist could want.

"What? Are you sure? Christ, that's the last thing I wanted to hear. Ok…no, no, Radek, it's not your fault. I know how devious he is, and what a quick learner too. No..no, leave it to me, I'll sort this out. I know…thanks. Yes – I'll let you know."

"What?" Elizabeth asked nervously, knowing from the snatches of conversation she'd overheard that John had been up to something. She also knew from Carson's face that the something was bad – for John.

"The daft bugger's hacked into the database and copied the saved files – the one's of Kolya's transmissions to us. Radek had a sneaky suspicion he might have done that when he heard from Rodney that John had escaped my care, and sure enough, he has." Carson closed his eyes briefly and let out a huff of breath. "What the hell was he thinking? This could be disastrous. Quite honestly I wasn't too happy about Kate's idea for him to watch the recordings anyway. Though I know of Exposure therapy, it sounds pretty barbaric to me," Carson complained.

At the moment, Kate rushed into Carson's office, a little out of breath.

"I came as quickly as I could Carson. What's happened?"

"Colonel Sheppard disappeared a while ago, and it seems he took copies of Kolya's transmissions with him," Elizabeth explained wearily. "What's this going to do to him, Kate?"

The psychologist's face dropped, and she shook her head in concern.

"I have no idea. Watching those events unsupervised…well, he could either become catatonic, totally breakdown, or even become violent. We need to find him –_ now."_

Elizabeth stood, and tapped her earpiece.

"Major Lorne?" she waited until she got a reply to her hail. "We have a problem. Colonel Sheppard is missing from the infirmary; he's also procured recordings of the wraith feeding on him. I need you to assemble teams and start searching the city. If you find him, contact Drs. Beckett and Heightmeyer before you approach him. We've already scanned the city and can't find any obvious signs of him…Good. Thank you, Major. Weir out."

Elizabeth smiled grimly at the two concerned faces opposite her.

"I'll be in the control room, helping co-ordinate the search. Let me know if you hear anything before I do," she said calmly, before quickly walking away.

-oOo-

John watched in morbid fascination as Kolya's face graced his screen.

"Oh good. I wanted to be certain you were there to see this…" John swallowed as he heard Kolya's voice taunting Elizabeth.

On the screen of John's laptop, the Genii stepped aside, revealing John, sitting bound and gagged behind him.

John's heart leapt in his chest as he took in the sight before him. He could make out anger on the gagged face in front of him, and…humiliation that he was being paraded in front of Atlantis, like a prized bull.

His breath caught as he heard McKay's fearful and angry, yet disembodied voice on the recording.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing whatsoever, Dr. McKay."

"Let me rephrase that: What are you planning to do?"

John listened numbly to the dialogue, remembering how he'd felt as he'd been forced to witness Kolya's interaction with his colleagues - his friends. He'd simply felt helpless and frustrated. He remembered thinking there was nothing Kolya could do to him that would scare him. He'd been tortured before, and yeah, it hurt and wasn't nice, but he'd got through it, and he'd get through this. How wrong he'd been, he thought, as his stomach clenched convulsively at the thought of what lay ahead on the recording.

John's thoughts were interrupted as he heard McKay rephrasing Elizabeth's request to Kolya, where Rodney had asked pretty forcefully that John be allowed to talk back to them. He allowed himself a small smile. He was proud of Rodney for being so smart. Proud then - proud now.

He jumped as he heard his own voice screaming at Elizabeth ordering her not to do whatever it was that Kolya wanted, when the gag was briefly removed. He distantly thought he was glad he looked defiant, it made him stronger, slightly less vulnerable, at least on the surface, anyway.

John had wanted to be strong for everyone back on Atlantis, and he'd succeeded in that. John could see that on the screen in front of him. He hadn't begged to be helped, hadn't asked Elizabeth to give in, he'd shouted to stay firm; he was ordering Elizabeth not to cave in. He also saw Koya's sneering face, laughing at John's outburst, and yet again, John felt unbridled anger coursing through his veins. Smug bastard. John resolved to wipe the smile off his face next time they met - and he knew they would.

John listened intently to Kolya explaining what he wanted from Elizabeth, but his heart was starting to pound, and his breath hitched as he heard the words he knew would herald the arrival of his instrument of torture.

"Allow me to help expedite your decision," Kolya had said matter-of-factly.

John stared at the screen as the camera followed Kolya to the opening door of the room, and he shuddered as he saw the wraith being escorted towards him. John swallowed as he heard Elizabeth mutter, 'Oh my God', and briefly closed his eyes as he heard Rodney's tirade of angry words directed at Kolya. As he opened them, John saw himself on screen, and bit his lip, drawing blood, as he saw the look of fear in his eyes, as he had finally comprehended what lay ahead. He flinched as he noticed how his breath had quickened as the wraith neared him.

John shivered again. He'd been scared, no, _terrified_, knowing there was no way out. Elizabeth wouldn't agree to Kolya's terms, nor did he ever want her to. Kolya wouldn't halt the grisly proceedings, and certainly a hungry wraith wouldn't show any moral conviction. He'd known what lay ahead, and he'd been petrified, and John could see it all reflected in his eyes on the screen in front of him. He just hoped Elizabeth and everyone hadn't seen that too – no, they all knew him well enough, he inwardly admitted: they'd known. Again, John felt angry at his helplessness, and even though he knew what would happen next, he continued to bite on his lip as he forced himself to continue watching; waiting in morbid fascination to see himself fed upon.

John felt nauseous as he heard Weir begging Kolya not to do it. Twice she'd pleaded for Kolya not to go ahead. Twice the bastard had ignored Elizabeth's words. John began to feel as if he were watching a horror movie, the sort where he knew what was going to happen, and he would cry out in frustration, wanting to climb into the screen, and intervene. This was surreal; he was going to watch his own torture, witness first hand, or was it second, he mused, himself sitting there, gagged, handcuffed to a chair, and have part of his life torn away from him.

When Kolya had asked if his terms would be met, and silence ensued, John remembered feeling resigned to his fate; he was going to die, and that would be it, his life would be over. He remembered bracing himself, heart pounding, arms and legs tense, hoping to prepare himself for his certain demise, hoping he'd face that ordeal with dignity and pride.

John's heart lurched along with his stomach as he watched the wraith's hand plunge into his chest, and he let out a small choked cry as he saw his head fly back, pain marking his features, as the wraith began to feed. He was glad he hadn't cried out, but wondered how much that had to do with the gag muffling his mouth. He remembered grunting, at least he thought he had, but then his breath had been stolen away as agony erupted throughout his body, the worst pain he'd ever endured in his life. Even without the cloth covering his mouth, he wouldn't have been able to scream, even if he'd wanted to.

He couldn't watch anymore, and John closed his eyes as blood rushed in his ears. He felt dizzy, nauseous, terrified. Why the hell had he thought it would be a good idea to watch the files? He wanted to be back in the infirmary, safe, warm and cared for.

Distantly he heard Elizabeth's anguished cries of 'stop, stop!' before Kolya calmly said 'enough', and John remembered, without even looking at the screen, breathing so quickly that he thought his lungs would burst as the wraith's hand was tugged away from his bleeding, sticky chest.

Scrambling to his knees, John stood quickly, wavering as he sought something to throw up in. Spying a container nearby, he lunged for it and threw himself on his knees in front of it just as he heaved, bringing up bile. He retched for what seemed like an eternity, until he honestly thought he'd bring up his intestines. His body ached, his head pounded, and hot tears streamed down his face.

John managed to crawl towards the open laptop, and slam it shut. Somehow, he found the strength to curl on his side, in a tight foetal position, and he found himself rocking gently, as he quietly sobbed himself into oblivion.

TBC.


	7. Chapter 7

Consequences.

_Thanks for the wonderful reviews, and thanks to Kodiak for her beta skills– again!_

Chapter 7.

John woke to a pounding head and a dry mouth. Squinting, he looked slowly around to try and get his bearings. Where was he, and why was he huddled on the cold floor, wearing scrubs?

He painfully managed to push himself up onto his elbows, but quickly sank back down to the floor again as dizziness overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes, and breathing in shallow pants, John carefully opened his blurry eyes a second time and tried to focus again on his surroundings.

As soon as John spied the laptop on the floor close by, memories flooded back to him.

John knew he'd been unconscious for quite a while. He was cold, damp from old sweat, and his head was throbbing, probably because of dehydration. How long was it since he'd had a drink? Carson was going to be really pissed this time.

Sitting up more carefully, John was relieved when he managed to stay upright, though his world did tip sideways a little.

Edging towards the laptop, John opened it again, knowing he had to watch the rest of his torture. He had to put himself through that to move on, he could see that now. Kate had been right, only he didn't need her to psychoanalyse every second of the recordings to achieve that; he could do that pretty well on his own, in private, and in his own unique way. John tried to swallow to ease his acidic, burning oesophagus, but his throat was dry, and he knew he needed to drink soon, or he'd be finding himself hooked up to an IV again when Carson got his hands on him. Hell, Carson would stick him with one anyway. Who was John kidding?

Once the laptop had booted up, John found the second saved file, and sat motionless as he returned his hand to his lap after he'd clicked the file open.

Looking at himself on the video, John could see he looked a little older, maybe five or so years had been taken from him. John smiled as he heard Elizabeth's resolute 'no' in answer to Kolya's demands, and was pleased to see he had nodded his head several times in agreement. Even though he had been unable to speak, he had wanted to show Elizabeth she was doing the right thing. If he had to die, the last thing he wanted was his death on her conscience. John was glad he'd managed, so clearly, to get his words across to her. John studied the screen in front of him again, and found himself staring at the wraith hovering over the helpless victim shackled to the chair.

John was surprised to see defiance, yet entreaty in the eyes of the gagged man looking resolutely into the wraith's eyes. He'd had the courage to look his enemy in the eye, and show he wasn't afraid, yet at the same time ask him not to do this, not to play Kolya's game. John found himself feeling a mixture of revulsion and pride. He'd acquitted himself well, he could see that. He'd looked right into the soul of the wraith, and if anyone had asked him a few days previously if wraith had souls, John knew he'd have answered no. After his encounter with Kolya's wraith, he had to admit he thought they probably did, well, at least some had them, anyway.

John was abruptly interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of the wraith snarling on the screen in front of him. He watched, fascinated as before, by his own thrown back head, eyes screwed tight in agony as more life was snatched away from him.

This time John's stomach complained a little, but not as loudly as before. He watched quietly, breathing in soft pants until Kolya's face loomed again, informing Elizabeth she had another three hours to reconsider her answer.

The file closed, and John sat quietly, considering what he'd just seen. He wasn't frightened anymore, nor was he ashamed. It was difficult not to feel humiliated by his helplessness, but he had been a victim here, and he'd survived the second feeding with his dignity in tact. That was something. He was beginning to realise that despite his vulnerability, he'd had some control. He'd been able to control the way he'd reacted to his torture, the way he'd faced his torment. He saw strength in his demeanour on the recordings that he hadn't known he'd had. John felt a surge of pride at that thought.

John clicked on the third file, knowing it would be the hardest to watch. He remembered thinking that death was a foregone conclusion when Kolya had told the wraith to take his fill. Memories flooded John's mind as he watched the wraith return his own searching look, before the bony, taloned hand had plunged into John's chest again. John remembered the worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life. The first feeding had been agony, so had the second, but the third had drained John's very essence, his life literally was being snuffed, like a candle extinguished in a violent gush of wind.

John gulped as he witnessed his face wither, his hair grey, and his eyes become sunken.

When the wraith unexpectedly tore his hand away from John, he couldn't help but flinch. He'd heard the wraith say something to Kolya, but John's ears were buzzing so loudly when that had happened, he hadn't been able to comprehend his words. He'd found out in his cell later that the wraith had stopped feeding on John so they could work together to escape, but what had he said to Kolya? John's hand snaked out to replay the last portion of the recording. "He is near death. Shall I finish him?" Ah, so that was what he'd said. Wraith could lie as well as humans. John wasn't sure if that was a good or bad revelation.

John paused the video, and studied his own frozen face on the computer in front of him carefully. God, he looked terrible, and he hadn't even had the strength to give another defiant look to his captor, such was his exhaustion. He'd wanted to die then, he remembered. What use would he be to Elizabeth and his team as a sixty-odd year old man? They'd ship him back to Earth, like they had Everett, lock him in some veterans home, and throw away the key. That would be worse than death in John's eyes.

Shutting the laptop, John found himself overwhelmed with anger. It surged through his veins, and he knew he needed to find an outlet for it, before it consumed him from within.

Shakily, he stood, and thought the door to the room open. He knew what he needed to do, what he had to do to help him sleep, to make him heal, before he could move on, and be ready for his inevitable next encounter with the man who had become his nemesis – Kolya.

Picking up the LSD from the floor, and activating it, John plotted his journey in his head.

Fifteen minutes later, John had arrived undetected at his destination. Judging from the lack of movement of personnel, and the dimmed lights, John knew it must be the early hours of the morning.

Entering the gym, John thought on the lights and looked for sticks to practice sparring with. Seeing none around, John's eyes focused on the next best thing: a punch bag hanging from the ceiling of the vast room.

Walking unsteadily up to it, he smiled and started to punch away, imagining Kolya's face as he aimed careful swings. At first his punches were well directed, despite his exhaustion, and adrenaline pumped through John's veins as he tried to bleed his anger through his hands. After half an hour of lashing out, John's punches became sloppy and desperate, as his anger, hurt and frustration spilled over. He pummelled relentlessly, staggering as the force of each blow reverberated against his weary body. He punched until his hands burned, his wrists ached from the jarring, and perspiration he could ill afford to lose, ran down his face, and permeated his scrubs.

So intent was John on unburdening himself that he didn't hear the gym door open, or notice three figures quietly enter the room.

-oOo-

Carson strolled purposefully onward, Kate at his side. Both remained tight-lipped in concern at what they were going to find.

As soon as they had been informed that the colonel had been found in the gym, Carson and Kate had been pleased; he was alive and kicking, or punching as the case may be. Carson had asked that Ronon meet them by the entrance to the gym, and that everyone else stay well away, until they had assessed John's condition and decided on the best way forward.

"Docs," Ronon greeted the pair on their arrival.

"Ronon. I want you to stay behind us. We may need you to help intervene if things go a bit pear shaped. I don't expect he'll be able to put up much of a fight, but with the colonel, you never can tell," Carson grimaced.

Ronon grunted, and patted Carson's arm.

"Don't worry. I won't let him hurt himself, or anybody else."

The three entered the gym stealthily, and looked on.

Carson sighed as he took in the sight in front of him. Even from the twenty or so feet he was away from John, Carson could see that his patient was a mess.

John was barely standing, punching desperately and erratically, blood mixed with sweat dripping from abused knuckles onto the floor. John's face was sweaty and pale, his hair plastered to his forehead, and Carson could hear his wheezing, laboured breaths.

Walking forward cautiously, Carson made sure that he was in John's line of sight.

"Colonel?" he called quietly.

Either John didn't hear or chose not to, Carson couldn't be sure which was the case, but either way, the man in front of him continued to punch pathetically.

Carson stepped next to John, and reached out to touch the man, who was now punching, even as he clung to the bag for dear life.

"Colonel? Listen Son, I think you've had enough of that now. Let's go and sit over on the bench for a few minutes," Carson soothed.

John's answer was swift and brutal; he lashed out, punching Carson firmly on the jaw, sending the doctor flying back, medical bag in tow.

Kate moved forward, while Ronon went to haul up the cursing Scot.

"I should've bloody well seen that one coming," he muttered indignantly.

Kate looked nervously back towards Carson and Ronon, and Carson rubbed his jaw, while simultaneously nodding at the psychologist.

"I'm fine," he murmured in an embarrassed voice.

"Colonel? John? " Kate's soft voice drew the attention of the man in question away from his tirade of lacklustre punches. "I think you should stop now. It's getting late, and you need to get some rest," she said calmly.

"No," John ground out between punches.

"Why won't you stop?" Kate asked softly.

John groaned, but managed a half-smile.

"'Cos I don't feel better yet," he answered between hitched breaths.

Carson moved forward again, with Ronon slightly behind him.

"I know, Lad, but the thing is, you're very tired, and your hands are a bit of a mess. Why don't you let me take care of them in the infirmary? I can patch you up, get you a nice cool drink of water, and you can get some rest. You must be tired," Carson asked quietly.

John nodded, but continued to half-punch and cling to the bulky punch bag.

"I'm tired. Thirsty too," he huffed. "Want to punch some…more…Kolya," he explained as if what he was doing was the most logical thing in the world to want to do.

Kate studied John carefully before talking again.

"John? Are you trying to hurt Kolya, to make him pay for what he did to you?" she questioned him in a slightly condescending voice.

John laughed hoarsely, and coughed as his dry throat complained at the action.

"Do I…look…delusional?" he ground out between lungfuls of air.

"No, of course not, Lad. But I'm starting to get a wee bit concerned about you. You've been missing a long while, and I'll bet you've not had anything to eat or drink in that time," Carson stated in concern. "You also need someone to look at your hands."

John stopped momentarily and looked at Carson.

"Why? I've…only been punching," he answered in soft gasps.

"John, will you look at your hands? You've not been wearing gloves, and you've punched them to a bloody pulp," Carson scolded his patient.

John took his hands away from the punch bag and swayed as he lost his support.

Eyeing his swollen and torn knuckles, he shrugged matter-of-factly.

"Huh. That was a bit…er, stupid?" he offered, in a slightly contrite voice.

"Aye. It was," Carson agreed. "I'm going to call for a gurney, and you're going to lie down on it like a model patient and let me take care of you. Is that understood?"

John grabbed onto the bag again as he started to weave.

"Don't think so, Doc," he answered pleasantly. "Haven't finished here yet."

Carson exhaled, and stepped back. Turning to Kate, he shrugged.

"Any ideas?" he whispered.

Kate grimaced, and shook her head.

"I don't think there's any point trying to reason with him. He obviously feels he has to punch his feelings out of him. He's dealing with this his own way, but he doesn't look too good on it. I think it's probably time get out the sedatives, and have Ronon grab him."

Carson nodded in agreement.

"That's what I was thinking. Other than his hands, dehydration and exhaustion, he looks pretty much intact, so I don't think Ronon can hurt him."

"Don't worry, Doc. I'll grab him, you stick him. He'll be safely in your infirmary in a few minutes," Ronon assured Carson.

Carson withdrew a syringe, and loaded it with medication from a small bottle. Nodding to Ronon, he capped the syringe, and put it in his lab coat pocket.

Ronon walked slowly towards John.

"Sheppard. You gonna make this easy for me, or am I going to have to do this the hard way?" he asked gruffly.

John lifted his forehead from the punch bag and smiled drunkenly.

"I'm not coming to the infirmary, big guy, and I don't want to hurt you. So, back off, okay?"

Ronon laughed heartily, and John looked at him in surprise.

"You couldn't hurt one of Carson's little mice, right now Sheppard," he joked as he edged nearer to his target.

John let go of the bag and started to back away, wobbling on unsteady legs as he did so.

"I managed to plant a good one on Carson," John replied, slightly indignant, as he continued to back away from his giant friend. "Er, sorry about that, Doc," John apologised as an afterthought.

"That's not saying much," Ronon laughed, distracting an insulted John and lunging towards him.

John, even in his exhausted state, turned out to be far more agile than his appearance let on, and he dove out of Ronon's way, scrambling onto his feet and heading toward the door of the gym, leaving Carson and Kate standing mouths agape.

"Sheppard!" Ronon called in an annoyed voice. "Don't make me shoot you again."

John ignored the Satedan and ran unsteadily towards the door.

Ronon shook his head, unholstered his pistol, aimed at the retreating man, and fired.

John immediately face planted the floor and Carson ran quickly and efficiently to his patient.

"I thought we'd agreed you'd grab him, and I'd stick him," Carson said in an exasperated voice.

Ronon shrugged insouciantly.

"Didn't think he was gonna go for that, Doc."

Carson tapped his ear piece and called for a gurney. Turning John over, he groaned as he saw the lump on John's forehead started to form.

"This was the last thing he needed. We did a great job, didn't we?" he asked rhetorically.

Ronon shrugged again, and grimaced, before re-holstering his gun, and crouching down next to Carson.

"He gonna be okay?"

Carson sighed as he started to take John's pulse.

"Well, he's obviously dehydrated, exhausted and has made a bloody mess of his hands – literally. I wouldn't be surprised if he's broken a few bones, and he'll certainly need suturing. His pulse is racing, his breathing's a little erratic, and add to that him being stunned and cracking his head on the floor– well, I think I've got my work cut out for me. I have a feeling he's not going to be too happy when he decides to next grace us with his presence," Carson answered bluntly.

The gym doors opening heralded the arrival of a gurney and medical team, and John was quickly and carefully moved to the litter, before being swept briskly away, Carson, Kate and Ronon following behind.

"Why do you keep doing this to me, Colonel?" Carson whispered as he shook his head and rubbed his sore jaw. "You have to do things your own way, don't you? No matter the cost to your own well being. What am I going to do with you, son?"

"You're going to make him better, Doc," Ronon answered gruffly.

Carson turned to look at the Satedan, and smiled sadly.

"I just hope I can, Ronon."

Tbc.


	8. Chapter 8

_I must apologise for not posting this sooner. Real life events overwhelmed me, as I met a certain Mr. Joe Flanigan recently. Suffice it to say, I've recovered from my momentary fangirlie squeeing – just about, and am now back on track with my writing! I blame Joe for everything!!!_

_Thanks go to Kodiak for her swift and thorough betaing!_

Chapter 8.

"Carson. Is it okay for me to come in?"

Elizabeth's concerned and querying voice interrupted the doctor, who looked up from his painstaking work. Carson waved a slightly bloodied, gloved hand at Atlantis' leader, and smiled.

"Aye, lass. As you can see, I'm just finishing up here," he explained, as he tied off the last suture, snipped the thread, and dumped the suturing materials on a tray to the side of him, before snapping off his gloves and turning to the nurse assisting him.

"Can you dress this hand as well, Sarah?" he asked politely, as he pushed his chair back and stood, turning to face Elizabeth.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, I was a little anxious to see how John is," she apologised, a little sheepishly.

Carson patted Elizabeth on the arm affectionately and smiled sadly, knowing how difficult all of this was for everyone who cared about John. Ronon had been prowling around the infirmary, as had Rodney and Teyla before he'd sent them all away.

"You weren't interrupting, and I was just coming to find you anyway," Carson informed Elizabeth, as he gently led her to the bottom of John's bed, leaving Sarah ample room to wrap John's badly bruised and damaged hand.

Elizabeth studied John's prone form carefully. The sleeping man was pale, too pale, Elizabeth thought. His hair was stuck to his damp forehead, yet still managed to stick up at right angles to his head; its ebony a stark contrast to the alabaster of John's slack face. His features looked even more youthful than usual, and Elizabeth thought John looked innocent – untouched. A deep bruise was starting to form around the lump in the middle of his forehead. A nasal cannula was present under John's nose, and blankets covered him up to his armpits. His right hand was lying on a pad, covered with drips and smears of blood, waiting for Sarah to bandage it. His left hand lay to his other side and had been placed on a pillow to elevate the bandaged appendage. An IV snaked into the crook of John's left elbow, and Elizabeth saw the heart monitor to John's left side, reassuringly chirping regularly to let everyone know John was still alive. Her eyes followed the leads from the monitor up to where they disappeared underneath John's white scrub top. Of most concern to Elizabeth was that John was lying deathly still, except for the somewhat erratic movements of his chest as he breathed.

All in all, John looked like hell.

"I'm almost afraid to ask you how he is," Elizabeth whispered in a small, shaky voice.

Carson's eyebrows rose, and he tutted before answering the anxious woman next to him.

"Aye, I can't say I'm surprised," he answered soothingly. "He's a bit of a mess physically, and I can't even begin to guess how he is mentally, though he did seem pretty lucid right before he tried to bolt and Ronon shot him."

Elizabeth found her eyes wandering to John's hands, and she winced as she watched Sarah carefully lifting John's damaged hand. Elizabeth looked on as the nurse placed dressings carefully across John's sutured knuckles, before starting to wind a bandage carefully over the abused fist.

"What about his hands?" she asked quietly.

"They're going to hurt like hell tomorrow, I can tell you that much. I think the colonel will be regretting his little foray into boxing," Carson informed Elizabeth, with a hint of disapproval in his voice. "He managed to crack three bones in his left hand, but fortunately none in his right. He has multiple lacerations, and needed quite a few sutures in wounds that weren't easy to close. He has extensive bruising, not surprisingly. However, everything should heal nicely, all being well."

Elizabeth nodded distantly, as she continued to stare in fascination at the nurse's careful ministrations.

"What else?" she asked, as Sarah swept up the pad from underneath John's raised arm and gently laid the injured hand across his chest.

Carson exhaled and wearily massaged the back of his neck.

"He has a nasty bump on his head, and a moderate concussion, which makes it difficult for me to assess his present condition, as he's still out cold from the stunning he received. The combination of the two has me a little concerned, as we like to wake patients with concussions regularly, and I haven't been able to rouse the colonel yet. His scans are clear, but he needs careful monitoring," Carson explained, frustration showing in his voice. "He was badly dehydrated, which we're taking care of now, and his temp was a little down. His heart rate and BP were both pretty high when we first brought him here, though that's not surprising considering what the stupid lad had been doing."

Carson smiled as Sarah walked by him pushing a trolley with the used supplies on them. "Go and get yourself some coffee, love. I'll sit with Colonel Sheppard until you come back," he ordered kindly.

"Is he going to be okay?" Elizabeth asked as Sarah headed off.

"Aye, he should be, physically at least - barring any complications. His breathing's still a little erratic, probably down to exhaustion and Ronon's marksmanship. Obviously we'll have to wait until he wakes up to assess his mental condition. Who knows what effect watching those videos had on him? Poor lad, all by himself like that. Did Rodney tell you they found where he'd been hiding?" Elizabeth nodded without speaking. "He'd watched all three files, and had thrown up. I can't imagine why he wanted to look at the feedings," Carson uttered in disbelief.

"He wanted control, Carson. Just to watch them alone, in his own way, on his own terms," Elizabeth supplied.

"That sounds like him. What on Earth made him think punching his hands to shreds would solve anything?" Carson asked in confusion.

Elizabeth smiled and looked across fondly at John again.

"I think that was Ronon's doing, in a matter of speaking. He told me that John had asked him what he'd do if he were in John's position, and I think Ronon stated in no uncertain terms, that he'd beat the crap out of something, suck it up and move on," Elizabeth explained in a slightly amused voice. "Only, Ronon said that's what he'd do, not that John should do that – he was quite clear to tell me that." Elizabeth looked back at Carson and shrugged. "You never know, maybe this will have helped him – eased his frustration, helped him to come to terms with everything?"

Carson snorted before grabbing a pillow from the bed next to John's. Moving over to his patient, he gently lifted John's right hand and placed the pillow underneath it, to the side of the unconscious man.

"Maybe. But, he's made a mess of himself in the process. He and Ronon make a right bloody macho pair."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, and started to walk away.

"You're not wrong there. Keep me informed, and Carson," Elizabeth paused and waited for the doctor to return her intense stare, "get some rest. You look exhausted."

Carson lowered himself into the chair next to John's bed, and smiled tiredly.

"I will in a little while, love."

Carson studied the monitors by John's bed and noted the readings.

"You're a daft bugger, aren't you, son?" he muttered affectionately. "Let's hope when you wake up your boxing bout has helped purge your demons some."

-oOo-

As soon as John opened his heavy eyes he wished he hadn't. The room was blurry, unfocused and bright, and as the second shapes started to become sharper, to take form, everything spun wildly in John's line of vision. Nausea instantly overwhelmed him, and he found himself groaning, swallowing convulsively and shutting his eyes to try and ease his vertigo.

Closing his eyes merely compounded the wild spinning, and John managed a soft groan as his nausea intensified. His head pounded as the vertigo consumed him, making John feel as if he were falling. As bile started to rise up his oesophagus, he tried to sit, but his body didn't seem to want to co-operate. Trying to roll onto his side, John let out another soft moan as he banged his right hand on the rail, and a whole new wave of pain washed over him. What the hell was wrong now? He swallowed again to try and quell the nausea that seemed determined to engulf him.

John gave up fighting the inevitable, and he found himself starting to curl in on himself as the pain from his head and hands competed for dominance. Just as he started to heave, strong hands lifted him, and something was thrust under his chin, barely in time to catch the acrid liquid which burned its way up his throat and out through his mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity to John, his heaving subsided, and he was carefully lowered back onto his pillows. He felt a cool cloth wipe his face, but as hard as he tried to thank who ever had helped him, he couldn't manage to form a coherent sentence.

"It's all right, Colonel. Don't try and talk. Just take a few deep breaths."

John instantly recognised Carson's soft, lilting brogue.

"I know you're feeling pretty rough at the moment, lad, but I need to do a few obs, and ask you a few questions, then I'll give you a little something for the pain and you can go back to sleep. Okay?"

John managed to feebly nod his head, but doing so seemed to inflame the jackhammer pounding away at his skull. Groaning, John turned his head towards the doctor, and tried again to open his eyes. Managing to open them to slits, John squinted as he tried to make out the doctor's blurred features.

"Doc?" he finally managed to whisper.

"Ah, there you are, Colonel. I'm sorry, but this is probably going to be a little uncomfortable," Carson apologised, as he pulled back John's right eyelid and shone his trusty penlight into sluggish eyes. John flinched and grunted as the light pierced his delicate pupil. Carson tutted, and repeated the same process on the other eye.

"Hmmm, still a wee bit sluggish for my liking," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, son, but I'm going to have to hold off on the good painkillers for a while longer. I'm not happy with your reactions, so it's Tylenol for now," he explained, as John felt a tug on his IV line.

John didn't answer immediately, his muddled brain trying to understand Carson's words, as well as trying to figure out what could possibly have happened to have him feeling so bad.

"Wh't h'ppn'd?" John managed to slur. The painkiller was starting to take the edge off the pain in John's head, but his hands were still throbbing wildly.

John heard Carson's soft, yet exasperated exhale, and realised whatever had transpired the good doctor obviously was pissed.

"You decided to go AWOL from my infirmary, Colonel. You stole the recordings of the transmissions sent to us by Kolya, then decided that the Ronon approach to psychology was the best way forward," Carson said reproachfully. "Next, after I very politely asked you to come with me, slugged me good and proper, and tried to run off again – obviously failing, hence your present incarceration back here."

John groaned as he remembered the events Carson described in vivid flashbacks.

"Sorry, Doc. You okay?" John asked, concerned, as he remembered hitting Carson firmly across the jaw.

"I'm fine, Colonel. Though annoyed at myself for letting someone who, to all intents and purposes, was dead on his feet and as weak as a new born lamb, deck me," Carson replied with a little levity in his voice. "Do you want to know what you've done to yourself this time?" he asked, and again John noticed reproach, yet sympathy in the doctor's voice.

John considered Carson's words, as he inwardly did an inventory of his hurts. Head pounding, nausea, dizziness - concussion, John concluded. Body generally hurting everywhere, being limp and unresponsive. Well, John had no idea what had caused that, but guessed he had overdone something or other. Hands throbbing relentlessly? Hmmm, what had he done to those?

"Why not?" he asked insouciantly.

John heard the rustle of paper, and looked across to see a blurry Carson opening a file.

"Three fractures in the bones in your left hand, multiple deep bruising to both, as well as lacerations to your knuckles, requiring suturing. A moderate concussion, exhaustion, dehydration…do I need to continue?"

"No," John answered concisely. "Did Ronon shoot me again?" he asked a little indignantly, as John suddenly was assaulted by memories of a red flash and darkness engulfing him.

Carson sighed and John heard him returning the file to a nearby table.

"Aye. Quite frankly that was the last thing you needed, and it's had me fretting over you somewhat." John heard the anxiety in his friend's voice. "I've been unable to wake you for the past ten hours, which has been a bit worrying, considering your concussion."

"I'm fine," John answered automatically.

"No, you're not," Carson answered sternly. "You're anything but fine. Physically, you're a mess, and considering what your body is already recovering from, I'm far from happy about that." Carson paused and John made out the doctor's blurry form standing over him. "And mentally? I have no idea how you are…what the hell were you thinking, taking those files like that?" Carson demanded, though concern was evident in his voice.

"I…I wasn't thinking. I just had to watch the videos. I needed to do that alone…didn't want Kate pulling everything to pieces," John ground out breathlessly. "At first I was repulsed by the thought of watching those files, but then Ronon said something that made me realise that I needed to face what had happened to me…" John paused and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as a wave of pain assaulted his head.

Carson sighed, and John felt a cool cloth on his bruised forehead. Involuntarily, he quietly sighed as the soothing cold penetrated bruised flesh and bone.

"You were completely reckless doing that. Anything could have happened to you, and we'd never have found you in time…" Carson's voice trailed off, and John inwardly winced at the worry and fear in the doctor's voice.

John took a deep breath, and turned his head slowly towards Carson. Opening heavy eyes, he squinted as he tried to focus on Carson's blurry features.

"I'm sorry, Doc. Didn't mean to worry you…I needed to do this, and it's helped," John whispered shakily.

Carson tutted and removed the cool cloth, dipping it a bowl next to John, wringing it out and then replacing it on John's tender head.

"Do you want to explain to me why you thought it'd be a good idea to pulverise your hands?"

John sighed, and swallowed trying to settle his complaining stomach.

"I was angry…so angry. When I saw the videos I was…scared. Then repulsed…but then I could see I'd been strong – defiant. I hadn't crumbled or begged, I'd just accepted everything, but retained my dignity." John paused and closed his blurry eyes, as his head pounded ruthlessly away. Clearing his throat softly, John pried his eyes open again, and blinked lazily, trying to focus on Carson's face.

"Kolya was inhumane, Doc. He used me, and enjoyed it in a perverse sort of way. Half of him loathes the wraith, and sort of admires me, the other half hates me for what happened during the storm, and he wanted payback…I…I felt myself losing it, so I thought 'what'd Ronon do?' and he told me he'd beat someone up…so…"

John paused again, and grimaced as a tickle began to form in his dry throat. He desperately tried to clear his throat, but the harder he tried, the more he coughed, until he found himself curled up desperately trying not to be sick again.

He sensed Carson walking away, only for the doctor to return a minute later. John felt himself gently hauled upright, and then Carson's soothing voice permeated John's pain.

Carson gently patted John's back, and he felt cool ice touch his dry lips. He opened his mouth and let the frozen water melt and trickle down his raw and abused throat. The cool liquid tasted like nectar, and John's protesting throat was quickly soothed.

"Thanks," he whispered, as he breathed in shallow pants, trying to ease the relentless throbbing in his head, which had been aggravated by his paroxysm.

"Better?" Carson asked softly.

"Yeah, thanks," John replied shakily, as he found himself being lowered back down. John felt the back of his bed rise slightly, and he sighed as he relaxed into his soft pillows.

"So, you thought you'd beat the crap out of the punching bag, and that it would be cathartic somehow?" Carson asked sceptically.

John managed a small chuckle.

"Yeah. I do feel better, Doc, honestly. Though if it's any consolation, I'm beginning to think it was a dumb idea right about now," he answered honestly, as he looked dejectedly at his throbbing, bandaged hands.

Carson squeezed John's nearest shoulder compassionately, and grimaced.

"I'd imagine you are, Colonel…I think that's enough for now, son," Carson said gently, as he studied John's pained and tired face. "Try and get some sleep. I'll be waking you up again soon enough, I'm sorry to say, and you won't be too happy when I do," Carson added; sympathy and warning both present in his soft voice.

John nodded almost imperceptibly, and for the first time in days, felt a sense of peace wash over him, as he let sleep pull him in.

Tbc.


	9. Chapter 9

Consequences

_Well, I've finally reached the end! Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for reading. Much gratitude, as always, to Kodiak, my wonderful beta!_

Epilogue

Twenty-four hours later, John was sitting in bed, propped up by pillows, and feeling warm, fuzzy and happy – all things considered. He wasn't drugged enough to make him feel loopy, and unfortunately, not enough to ease the ever-frequent slivers of painful memories, which would sporadically and unexpectedly invade his relaxed state. Once Carson was certain his patient wasn't going to keel over from a brain contusion or haemorrhage, he'd happily rolled out the good drugs, and John's head and hands were now vague throbs on the horizon.

The previous day or so had passed in a haze of nausea, pain, and blurred vision for John. Every time he'd drifted off into a pained and fitful sleep, it had seemed he'd been woken by an apologetic member of Carson's staff, or by the good doctor himself. The questions were always the same: Did John know who and where he was, did he remember what had happened, what day it was? By the sixth time he'd been woken, he hadn't waited for Carson to ask the rapidly annoying and repetitive questions, and had pre-empted, mumbling the answers irritably: he was John Sheppard and was in the Atlantis infirmary. He'd had a run in with a punching bag and had come off worse for wear, been shot by Ronon – again - and was concussed. Finally, seeing as it was only two hours since he'd last been woken, he presumed it was the same day as when he'd been asked the last time, just two hours further down the line. Carson had chuckled, tortured John with his trusty penlight, tutted, and popped something more in his IV line, resulting in John falling back into another restless sleep.

"Good afternoon, Colonel. You're looking a little better."

Kate Heightmeyer's cheerful voice jolted John from his reverie.

He smiled warily, instantly comprehending why the psychologist had turned up to see him.

"Do you feel up to talking?" Kate asked brightly.

The psychologist was straight to the point, and John considered his options carefully. He was starting to feel better, and he also knew he had to talk to Kate eventually - Carson had made it clear that very morning, so, what was the point in putting off the inevitable? The sooner it was over and done with, the sooner John could leave and go back to his quarters, or that was how Carson had put it to John.

"Sure. Why not?" he answered amiably, though his exterior calm wasn't mirrored within, not even with the benefit of Carson's painkillers.

Kate sat down next to John's bed and opened her notebook. Smiling sympathetically, she drew in a breath before talking.

"Good. I'd like to talk about how you felt recently when you escaped Carson's care…Carson says you feel better now that you've watched the recordings of the wraith…" John smiled to himself as Heightmeyer paused as she tried to phrase delicately what the files had shown.

"Feeding on me?" John helpfully supplied.

"Yes…feeding on you…I'd like to understand how you feel they have helped you to come to terms with your torture," she concluded.

John raised his eyebrows, and let out a sigh. He really wasn't in the mood to dissect his 'feelings', but had reluctantly come to the conclusion that Kate's exposure therapy had helped him somewhat. _Give credit where it's due_, he thought to himself.

"Yeah. I'll give you that one. It worked. I feel better. I was sceptical, I won't deny it. But, hey, you're obviously not a psychologist for nothing – congratulations," he answered a little too flippantly. John wondered if the drugs had loosened his tongue a little, or whether seeing Kate had automatically made him become self-defensive and a little condescending.

Kate eyed John, obvious concern marked in her features.

"I don't need congratulations, Colonel. I'm glad you feel this has helped you." A look of determination crossed Kate's face. "However, we still have much to discuss, and just because you're feeling better now, doesn't mean we can discontinue our proposed therapies for you."

Ah, so Kate didn't believe John was really recovered, and had come to poke around in his head some more. No surprises there. For a psychologist Kate was okay, but leopards didn't change their spots, and she was still eager to chip away at his psyche, desperate to catch any loose fragments that fell by the wayside.

"Look, I'm good – really. You were right. Watching the recordings was cathartic. I'm not obtuse enough to think I'm 'all fine and peachy' again. That's going to take time. But, I really don't want to watch the files again, or even think about them. Okay?" John's happy place was rapidly vanishing; Kate was pulling John kicking and screaming away from his temporary, drug-induced haven.

"Colonel. I know you think you've come to terms with your torture, and I hope that's true. But – and it's a big but, you still need to discuss your thoughts, memories and feelings. In fact, you won't be allowed to return to any sort of duty until I'm satisfied you have received the treatment I deem necessary to facilitate your full recovery."

Kate paused, and realised she hadn't drawn a breath for a while. Calming herself, she looked into John's tired and haunted eyes. "I agree that it's not in your best interest to watch the recordings again. I do want to discuss with you what went through your mind as you watched them, though," she stated firmly. "We can break down what you felt, and how watching helped you." Kate looked John squarely in the eye, and ploughed ahead, knowing John wouldn't like what she was going to suggest. "I know how you feel about group therapy, but I want to press ahead with that. Carson tells me he'll be releasing you to your quarters tomorrow, and we've tentatively cleared our diaries for tomorrow afternoon for our first session. Okay?"

John's heart sank. He looked momentarily away from Kate, and briefly closed his eyes. The thought of group therapy made him want to go AWOL again. Agreeing to it when he felt desperate and helpless was one thing, but he was a lot better now, wasn't he? Couldn't she see that?

"No. It's not okay." John turned to look at Kate, and exhaled wearily. "I know you think you're trying to help me, Doc. Trust me, I've been through this before, and, yes, I'll admit I lost it for a while there." John cringed as he remembered his previous behaviour. "I'm good now. I'll talk to _you_ if you insist, but, please, don't make me go through everything in front of my team and Elizabeth. I can't bare my soul in front of them…I just can't."

John saw Kate's concerned expression. She reached to pat John's arm, and smiled warmly.

"Nobody expects you to 'bare your soul', Colonel. What I'm proposing is that we discuss how everybody felt, and how we're all coming to terms with everything. I think you'll be surprised at how angry everybody was. They don't pity you or think you're weak. Give your friends a chance, and give yourself one too. You might be pleasantly surprised, you know."

"I doubt that," John answered in a quiet voice.

Kate closed her notebook, and looked John in the eye.

"Give it a try. One session. See how we go. If you really feel it's tortuous, we'll re-evaluate, okay?"

John sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Fine. One session," he agreed reluctantly.

Kate nodded and grinned in obvious relief.

John's attention was suddenly drawn to a figure walking toward his infirmary bed. He squinted and instantly recognised Teyla's lean and graceful form striding towards him.

"Teyla!" he called out enthusiastically, relieved that he had a distraction and an excuse to encourage Kate to disappear.

The Athosian's eyes sparkled as she nodded at John, but as she studied John's features, he noticed a questioning frown appear on her features.

"Am I interrupting? I can come back later," she asked politely.

Kate stood and turned towards Teyla.

"No, not at all. I was just leaving." Kate turned back to look at John. "Colonel? I'll see you tomorrow at 1500 hours."

"Lucky me," John whispered to himself.

The psychologist nodded at Teyla and then strode purposefully away, obviously happy at her little triumph, John concluded.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Teyla questioned lightly, as she sat on the vacated chair.

John slumped further into his pillows and grimaced.

"Kate has scheduled a group therapy session for tomorrow afternoon, and I kinda had to agree. She's on cloud nine that she's got me by the short and curlies…" he complained.

Teyla's eyebrows shot to her forehead.

"Short and curlies? Do I want to know?" she asked, laughing warmly.

John snorted and chuckled back at her.

"Probably not," he answered honestly. "Basically she knows I have no choice but to agree, even though I'd rather wrestle a wraith…" John paused as he realised what he'd said. Would he rather fight a wraith than talk in front of his team about his emotions and thoughts regarding Kolya's actions towards him? He seriously considered the dilemma for a few seconds. Nope. He'd much rather go mano y mano with a wraith, he swiftly concluded.

"I understand, John." Teyla's sympathetic and soothing voice permeated John's weary and over-taxed brain. "I think I would feel the same. But, when I learned of my wraith heritage, Kate helped me to face things I had not thought of…and things I did not want to admit. She helped me greatly. Perhaps you should keep an open mind?" she entreated.

John exhaled and sat a little further up in his bed, wincing as his head pounded at the change in angle.

"Teyla. You know how…how did you put it? Oh yeah…how socially inept I am. Group therapy is worse than torture for me."

Teyla shook her head sternly.

"Yes. I understand. However the only way to become adept socially is to practise talking John."

"Fine, fine. I'll give it a go. It's not like I have a choice anyway, is it?"

"No, it is not. As Ronon would say, you will have to 'suck it up' John," she laughed deeply and loudly, and John couldn't help but smile at the Athosian. "Get some rest. You look as though you need some," Teyla instructed her friend.

"Yeah, okay." He yawned as if to confirm how tired he was. "Teyla?" John called as the lithe woman started to walk away. "Thanks."

Teyla stopped and turned around smiling fondly at John.

"Get some sleep John," she urged. "And, you're welcome."

-oOo-

John glumly sat on the bed in his quarters. Carson had discharged him from the infirmary that morning, and John had scurried off to his quarters gratefully. Rodney had escorted him from the infirmary, and John had been concerned by the scientist's awkward demeanour; Rodney's quiet and considered words had been very uncharacteristic, and John was beginning to realise he wasn't the only one to have been affected by Kolya's actions.

John had sat quietly for an hour going over things in his mind. He'd then taken some of the painkillers Carson had given him and had slept for a short time. He'd been woken by Teyla bringing him lunch, and he'd managed to eat all of his soup and sandwich, and keep it down.

Looking at his watch, John cringed as he studied the numbers on the watch face: 14:55. In five minutes he was expected to be at the group therapy session, and fear engulfed him in such a fierce wave, that he seriously considered heading back to the infirmary to tell Carson he was feeling sick.

A knock on his door startled John, and he stood and quickly waved his hand over the door sensor, allowing the door to slide open. Ronon stood in the corridor, arms folded across his chest.

"I've come to walk to the therapy thing with you. Thought you could use a bit of company," the Satedan explained gruffly.

"You mean you thought I wouldn't show up, so you've come to escort me there," John corrected his friend.

Ronon smiled dangerously, and raised his eyebrows, but remained silent.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming. Just don't shoot me again all right? I'm beginning to get a complex about you stunning me."

"It's never personal, Sheppard. Just doing my job," Ronon answered gruffly.

Sheppard exhaled and stood, gathering all his courage for what lay ahead.

"I know big guy. Just trying to lighten the mood."

Ronon shrugged at John, and gestured for him to walk ahead.

"It's not that bad. When Teyla made me go I just said how angry I was and grunted a few times. Left the talking to the women – and McKay, of course."

John managed a soft snort, and took in a deep breath.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered under his breath, as he struggled to control his rapidly escalating heartbeat.

-oOo-

"He's so not coming, Carson," McKay complained loudly. "He's five minutes late, and Sheppard is never late. You can set your watch by him. Can't we just start without him? I'm a busy man, you know, and I can't afford to be here as it is, without having to wait for reluctant flyboys to turn up to…"

Rodney's voice trailed off as the door to Kate's office opened and John, followed by Ronon, entered.

"Colonel! How nice of you to grace us with your presence. Some of us have important work you know…"

"Rodney! That's quite enough, thank you. The colonel's here now, and that's all that matters," Carson interrupted, a warning note evident in his stern voice.

Rodney gave Carson a derisory glare, but as he looked at John's pale and anxious face, his features softened in concern.

"Yes, well, you're here now, I suppose," he agreed reluctantly.

John looked at everyone one in the room, and licked his lower lip nervously.

"Sorry I'm late guys. I sort of lost track of time a little," he apologised sheepishly as he studied a spot on the floor.

Kate stood and walked over to John. Taking his arm, she gently guided him to a chair between herself and Carson, as Ronon took a seat in between Teyla and Rodney.

"That's quite all right, Colonel. You were only a few minutes late," she reassured the obviously nervous and jittery pilot.

John nodded distractedly, and his wandering eyes found Elizabeth's. Aware of his stare, she smiled warmly, and nodded her head, as if to let John know she was here for him. At that moment John suddenly realised how much he valued Elizabeth's belief in him. He smiled nervously back, before looking down at his hands, which were picking jerkily at the belt on his pants.

"It's good to see everyone," Kate began confidently, "and I'd like to thank you all for making the time to attend this session. We all know why we're here, so I'd like to start by asking each of you to explain how you felt about what happened to Colonel Sheppard when he was captured by Commander Kolya." Kate paused and looked at Rodney. "Dr. McKay? Let's start with you, shall we?"

Rodney jumped from his distracted state, and glared at Kate.

"Why me? Can't someone else go first? Why is it always me? Does everyone think I'm some sort of emotionally open person? Because, hello? I'm not."

"Quit complaining and answer the question, McKay," Ronon growled.

"Or what?" McKay challenged. "Maybe you'd like to go first? Because you're so open to discussing your feelings, aren't you, Mr. Monosyllabic Neanderthal…"

"Rodney!" Elizabeth's stern voice was reproachful.

McKay looked at Elizabeth belligerently, and shrugged.

"What? He's not exactly forthcoming, is he?"

"Unlike you, McKay. You seem to enjoy acting like a hormonal girl…"

"Ronon!" It was Teyla's turn to add her reproachful voice to the proceedings, which were rapidly descending into chaos.

Carson studied John's anxious and obviously pained features, and his eyes slid down to John's bandaged hands, which were clenched tightly to the sides of his chair; his fingertips white from the taut death grip he had on the seat. Carson could see John was either ready to bolt, or throw up, and he wondered if the poor man was going to survive the session without ending up back in his infirmary. Clenching his injured hands like that was certainly not helping them heal, and Carson wondered how John wasn't crying out in pain at his own actions. Was John really going to be fine, was everything really going to be okay again?

"That's enough!" John's shout soared above the other voices in the room, jolting Carson from his thoughts and cutting through the previous noise, giving way to a deathly silence.

"I…I was scared, and it hurt like hell. I… _crap_.. I was frustrated and angry. But, I'm good now, I'm okay," he assured his friends. John's face brightened and he ploughed ahead confidently. "You know, this is like AA or drug addiction therapy, right? We've come here to talk about us being victims of a meglomaniacal Genii, and a hungry wraith, haven't we?" John paused and breathed deeply, because he knew what he had to do. Looking around the room he saw his friends were angry, hurt and desperately trying to cope with a situation that they were unable to prevent and come to terms with by themselves. At times like this, John knew he had to lead by example. Putting aside his own fears after his little confession of his feelings, he smiled at each person in the circle of chairs.

"Okay. Everyone calm down. I'll do it properly, 'fess up and go first." John paused and looked earnestly at each person in turn, before settling his gaze on Carson. "Hi. My name's John. I was captured by an evil Genii, and I was fed on by a wraith..."

The corners of John's mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled. Looking around the group of people, Carson saw John's attempt at levity had hit its mark. First Elizabeth smiled, then Teyla's soft mouth gracefully curled. Ronon let out a deep chuckle, and finally one side of Rodney's mouth moved upward. Yes, Carson concluded, as he smiled at John's lopsided grin, John was going to be fine.

The end.


End file.
